Knox's POV
The silver chains bit into my wrists.
I hung against the wall of my old cell, my arms stretched above my head, my feet barely touching the ground. The bars were familiar—every scratch, every stain, every place where I had clawed at the stone in desperation. Five years of t*****e, and now I was back.
The cell was exactly as I remembered it. The same cold stone walls. The same damp darkness. The same smell of blood and fear and despair that had soaked into the very pores of the rock. I had spent five years in this hell, and now I was reliving it.
The silver burns were fresh, layered over scars five years old. My skin screamed with every breath, every movement. The chains were tight, the cuffs digging into my wrists until I felt the blood trickling down my arms. The shard in my
