Cold.
It seeped into his bones like poison, crawling slow and relentless. Kade tried to move, but the sound that came was metal clinking—chains biting into raw skin.
His wrists burned. His shoulders screamed from the weight pulling them down. His breath came ragged, misting the air in pale clouds.
Then the voice.
“You really shouldn’t fight. It only makes them tighter.”
Kade raised his head slowly, every muscle screaming. The man from the alley sat across from him in that rusted chair, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in his lap. No hood now—just a face too calm for this place. Sharp jaw, pale skin, eyes the color of old steel.
And that smile.
It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t cruel. It was worse—polite. Like he was about to pour tea and ask how your day was.
Kade’s throat was dry as ash.
