Celine POV
Walking down the grand staircase with Sebastian at my side feels surreal. The Pack House, with its high ceilings and dark wooden beams, is warm and welcoming in a way I’m not used to. It still feels strange to be here, sleeping in a soft bed, wrapped in blankets, and surrounded by warmth. The faint scent of wood polish and cooked food lingers in the air, a stark contrast to the damp, cold cells I’d grown accustomed to.
Last night was the first time in years I wasn’t jarred awake by the endless noise of prisoners shouting, screaming, or banging on the bars. In the cells, silence was rare, and sleep was a luxury. Morning always came too soon, dragging me into the harsh reality of cooking for everyone else before I’d even eaten myself.
But today was different. I slept in—a small
