NASIR
The stench of blood and sweat filled the dungeon, a nauseating cocktail that clung to the damp, cold air. The single torch on the wall cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, dancing eerily as if mocking the man slumped in the chair before us. He was barely conscious, his face swollen and streaked with blood. The metallic tang of it was sharp, making my wolf restless.
Xerxes loomed over the rogue, his fists clenched and his voice sharp. "Who sent you?"
The rogue didn’t respond, his lips pressed tightly together. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, and I could see the slight twitch in his jaw as he fought to hold his composure.
Xerxes wasn’t a patient man. His hand shot out, delivering a brutal punch to the rogue's face. The sickening c***k of his nose breaking echoed i
