The drums echoed like thunder. Deep. Rhythmic. Ancient. I stood at the edge of the sacred arena, heart pounding like a war cry in my chest. Above me, the council watched from their stone thrones—cold, unmoving. The moon carved silver lines across the bloodstained sand where Ryker stood, alone.
He turned just once, catching my gaze through the iron bars of the cage where they’d locked me. The council called it “neutral containment.” I called it what it was—chains.
“Ryker!” I shouted. My fists slammed into the bars. “You don’t have to do this!”
He gave me that stupid, cocky grin. But it was softer now. Almost… sad. “Yeah, I do.”
I hated how calm he looked. Shirtless, bruised, smeared with ash across his chest like war paint. His dark hair curled damp around his temples. But it was his ey
