In exactly sixty-five minutes and 3,900 breaths—she had counted every single one, forcing herself to focus on the rhythm of her breathing so she wouldn’t pass out—Ralkov finally got tired of tearing Alarielle’s skin apart. Each breath had been shallow and rapid, a desperate attempt to stay conscious.
When he finally stopped, stepping back with an exasperated huff, she sagged against her restraints, her body trembling, her breaths now coming in slow, shaky gasps. Her blood dripped onto the cold stone floor, forming a crimson pool beneath her. But her gaze, defiant even in agony, never wavered as she looked up at Ralkov, her lips curling into the faintest, bloodied smirk.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she rasped, her voice hoarse.
“You will break,” Ralkov spat, his voice cold and sharp as a
