*Remo’s POV*
The blood was still warm on my hands.
I stood in the center of the room, chest heaving, eyes wild and unfocused. The rogue’s body hung limp from the chains, unmoving, the life long since beaten out of him.
But I didn’t see him anymore. I was a young boy again, buried alive, clawing at the dirt, lungs burning, wolfsbane dragging screams from my throat that no one heard.
I could smell it, the rot of the grave, the cold kiss of death tightening around my throat.
A growl tore out of my chest.
The walls felt too close. The air too thick. My mind spun, trapped between now and the nightmare.
I lashed out suddenly, violently, punching the concrete wall hard enough that blood sprayed from my knuckles.
I didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel anything except rage.
A wildfire I
