AMORA’S POV;
I couldn’t sleep that night. The weight of everything pressed down on me, suffocating me beneath layers of fear, confusion, and dread. Zale’s words echoed in my mind, over and over again, as if the very walls around me were whispering them, taunting me with his warning: “Don’t try to escape. You’ll regret it.”
It wasn’t just what he had said that haunted me—it was how he said it. His voice hadn’t risen, not even an octave. He didn’t have to shout. The sheer force of his authority and the cold, undeniable promise of what would happen if I disobeyed him was enough to chill my blood. He made it clear that I was trapped, that I was his prisoner in every sense of the word. And there was something else in his voice, something darker and more dangerous than just authority. It was a
