Lyra POV
The dungeon beneath the Silverfang packhouse felt colder with every passing hour.
Lyra sat on the rough stone floor of her cell, her back resting against the damp wall. The dim torchlight flickered weakly along the corridor, barely pushing away the shadows that crept across the ancient stone.
The air smelled of rust, moisture, and old iron.
But none of that mattered to her.
All she could focus on was the painful sound coming from the next cell.
Melvin’s breathing.
Each breath came out uneven and strained, followed by quiet grunts of pain he tried desperately to suppress.
Lyra gripped the iron bars separating their cells, her heart twisting painfully every time she heard him struggle.
“Melvin…” she whispered.
His eyes were half-open as he lay weakly on the ground, his shi
