HIS POV
“Follow me,” she said.
Her voice carried a sharp edge, like she knew I would obey even before I decided. She led me deeper, down a narrow hallway carved into stone, torches burning low along the walls. My boots echoed behind hers, every step pounding with anticipation.
Then she stopped.
The room she brought me to wasn’t just a room. It was a space meant for fear, built for breaking men down to the bone. Shackles hung from the walls. Chains gleamed faintly in the firelight. Wooden beams scarred with burn marks, whips coiled neatly on hooks, and a drain cut into the stone floor told the story—blood had run here before.
But tonight, the place smelled of oil and soap. Clean. Ready. Waiting.
She turned to me, her eyes glowing feral. “This is where enemies, spies, or wrongdoers are
