Elara POV
Claire. My childhood best friend stood chained to the cell wall in the murky dungeon. She was dressed in black motorcycle leathers, her short blond hair like a shot of sunlight through the gloom. But it was her blue eyes that commanded my attention as I entered the small space. They studied me, never wavering. Her chest rose and fell steadily with each breath. For a woman caught, dangling from chains, she seemed unconcerned.
A couple of months ago, I’d been the one bound and trapped down here—terrified. Now, I was the one coming into this cage, holding all the power.
My shock at learning Claire was alive, then the horror at knowing that she was also my stalker, had faded into wariness. The Claire I knew was loyal, kind-hearted, and honest—to the point of being blunt at times.
