CALLAN’S POV
Anger clung to me like a skin as I dragged the three rogues through the underground prison’s damp corridor, my boots scuffing the uneven stone, the air heavy with mildew and rust. Their wrists bled under the ropes, their faces bruised and swollen—eyes blackened, lips split, blood crusted dark from the beating I’d given them back at Tenebrous. My two men flanked me, their breaths puffing white, their hands steady as they hauled the ropes, the captives stumbling, chains clanking against the floor. Iron gates loomed ahead, flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows, and I shoved the lead rogue forward, his groan muffled, his knees scraping as he hit the ground.
I unlocked the cell door, metal grinding, and stepped in, my jacket creaking, the stench of sweat and fear thickenin
