The Woodland Pack dungeons smelled like death.
Caden moved through the darkness, his eyes adjusted to the black. His hand was on his sword hilt.
Ahead, he could hear voices—guards stationed outside the lower cells where they kept the important prisoners. He pressed himself against the wall and waited.
Two guards walked past, their torches held high. They were laughing about something, completely unaware of the shadow pressed against the wall three feet from them. Caden waited until they passed.
Then he moved.
He was behind the first guard almost immediately. His hand came up, fingers finding the pressure point on the man’s neck. The guard tried to scream, but Caden’s other hand clamped over his mouth and twisted. The snap was sharp.
The guard’s body went limp.
The second guard hea
