The Ironfang scouts had been stripped of their weapons and chained in the lowest chamber of the Valen stronghold—a cold, circular room carved into the mountain itself. Moss clung to the damp stone walls, and torchlight flickered across the iron bars that separated prisoners from judgment. A biting chill lingered in the air, thick with tension and the scent of blood.
Rayne stood in front of the largest of the three scouts, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Jace paced slowly behind her, his movements deliberate, his fingers twitching like he itched for violence. Garran leaned against the far wall, quiet, his eyes never leaving the prisoners.
The Ironfangs were all young—barely out of training—but their eyes held no fear. Just defiance.
Rayne stepped closer to the leader, a wiry
