The moment the inner chamber finally stopped shaking, I stumbled across the ruined floor and ran straight to Jack.
He hung from the ceiling in a slumped, impossible angle, wrists pulled upward by chains that glowed faint silver. His body looked wrong. Too still. Too pale. Too quiet. The burns across his skin pulsed faintly like the embers of a dying fire.
“Jack,” I whispered, reaching for him with shaking hands. My fingers brushed his cheek.
Ice.
He was ice cold.
My breath cracked in my chest. Panic swept up my spine so fast I staggered. I cupped his face with both hands and forced my thumbs under his jawline, trying to tilt his head so I could see him.
His eyes fluttered.
Just a fraction. Barely a movement. But they lifted enough for me to see a thin sliver of gold flicker through.
