Marcus had shaken sleep from our tired bodies, and Kane grabbed his gear in silence. We rushed down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the stillness of the early morning. The cells were in the dungeons beneath the packhouse—a grim, dank space. Kane led Marcus and I with measured steps, his voice barely a whisper as he guided us to the cell that housed the rogue wolf.
When we reached the metal door of the cell, Kane rapped on it a few times until a feeble voice replied from the other side. He pushed the door open, and we stepped into the cold, flickering light of a single lantern. There, chained to the wall, sat the rogue wolf whose fate had become entwined with Darius’s schemes. His coat was ragged and his eyes darted nervously between us as if he expected betrayal from every corner.
