The iron stench hit Ariana before she even stepped into the dungeon corridor.
The narrow passage, usually thick with dampness and the faint groan of chains, was unnervingly silent tonight. Her pulse quickened as she descended, lantern light flickering against the moss-coated walls. Something felt wrong—horribly wrong.
Two guards stood rigid at the dungeon entrance. They avoided her gaze, eyes fixed on the floor.
Ariana’s unease grew. “What happened?” she demanded, clutching the lantern tighter.
Neither answered immediately. Then one of them, voice low and strained, muttered, “The prisoner… he’s gone.”
Her heart skipped. “Gone?”
The other guard shifted uneasily. “Dead.”
The word echoed through her chest like a hollow strike of a drum. Ariana brushed past them, rushing into the darkne
