Katrina’s POV
Cassian had made me sit on a wooden chair in the center of the circle of light, like a specimen laid bare under a scientist’s lamp. His men hovered at the edges of the shadows, faceless, silent, watchful.
I clutched the edges of my coat with white knuckles, my chest rising and falling too fast.
“You did the right thing coming here,” Cassian said, his voice smooth, as though he was reassuring a child. He stood a few feet away, his presence heavy, filling the space like smoke. “You’ve taken the first step toward freedom.”
The word stabbed at me—freedom.
I tried to swallow, but my throat burned. “You don’t know me.”
“Oh, I know enough.” His smile was slow, deliberate. “I know you’ve been living in his cage, wearing his collar, obeying his rules. I know you wake up every da
