LEIGH
The corridor beneath Iron Hollow smelled of damp concrete, rust, and old regrets.
Varek never looked back as he marched me through the narrow hallway. His hand remained clamped around my upper arm, not because I was fighting him, but because he no longer trusted me to walk beside him without becoming a threat.
The brothers we passed stepped out of the way in silence.
Some refused to meet my eyes and others stared openly.
I recognized a few of the faces from breakfast that morning. Men who had laughed when Lockjaw burned the bacon. Men who had complimented the cinnamon rolls I'd spent hours making. Men who had thanked me for staying after the fire when half the staff had been too exhausted to cook.
Now they looked at me as though they had never known me at all.
Varek finally st
