The room was designed to make people talk.
Stone walls. No windows. A single torch that flickered just enough to keep shadows alive. Iron rings set into the floor. The faint, ever-present hum of suppression magic woven into the air itself.
Seraphine took it all in with a calm, assessing gaze.
Lucien Blackthorn watched her from across the room and wondered, not for the first time, what kind of creature walked into a place like this without fear.
The chains at her wrists had been shortened. Not enough to restrain her completely. Just enough to remind her who held the power.
Or who was supposed to.
“Sit,” Lucien said.
She didn’t move.
His wolf stirred, displeased.
Lucien stepped closer, boots slow and measured against stone. “That wasn’t a request.”
Her eyes tracked him sharp, unbli
