The restraints came off at midnight, not because Bastián trusted me.
Because the Bond made keeping me underground impossible.
The iron door opened sharply, and he stepped inside with the same cold expression he had worn since the chapel. Two guards waited behind him in the corridor, both visibly tense despite trying to hide it.
I stood slowly from the chair, mostly because my wrist was bruised from the restraint ring.
Bastián noticed.
His jaw tightened briefly before his face locked down again. “You are moving,” he said flatly without an explanation, an apology, but just an order.
I crossed my arms carefully before asking. “To another cell?”
His eyes flicked toward me at last. “Do you feel sick right now?”
The question caught me off guard.
I frowned. “No.”
“Neither do I,” he said
