The dark did not offer peace; it offered anticipation.
Selene sat pinned to the narrow corner ledge, her knees pulled tight against her ribs to keep her boots out of the black water that now lapped at the lower masonry.
The silver-fever was a dull, rhythmic hammer behind her eyes, a constant thrumming static that made the cold walls feel as though they were breathing. She had learned to count the intervals between the cistern’s drainage cycles, using the hollow slosh of the filth below to mark the passage of her captivity.
Then came the heavy, erratic thud of multiple boots descending the spiral stairs. Too fast for Jaxon. Too chaotic.
The iron bolt of the door didn't groan; it shattered back against the granite with a violent, ringing *c***k*. The door swung wide, and the yellow flar
