Rowan’s POV – The Lower Vault
The silver chains burned.
Not the surface sting of a fresh lash—this was deeper, bone-marrow deep, like acid eating through muscle and vein. Every breath pulled fire into my lungs. Every heartbeat sent molten silver racing through my bloodstream. The vault was pitch black except for the single enchanted torch flickering high on the wall, its blue flame designed to suppress shifter healing. Designed to remind me what I was.
What I could become.
I was on my knees in the center of the circular stone chamber, wrists manacled behind my back, ankles chained to a heavy ring bolted into the floor. More silver links wrapped my torso, crossing over my ribs like a cage made of moonlight turned weapon. They’d stripped me to the waist again. Blood from the earlier whip
