The cell was cold. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones, into the cracks of your skin, into the space between every breath.
Chains hung from the walls, some rusted, some new. A single, flickering bulb buzzed above me, casting sharp-edged shadows across the stone floor.
And across Asher.
He was slumped against the far wall, half-conscious, his breathing shallow. Blood streaked his bare chest from where the silver bullet had grazed him. They hadn’t even bothered to treat the wound.
I pulled at the cuffs binding my wrists, rage boiling under my skin. “Asher.”
A low sound left him. A groan. His head tipped back, dark lashes fluttering. “Ava…”
I twisted my wrists harder, ignoring the burn of metal against skin. I had to get to him. Had to—
Footsteps.
I stiffened, heart hammering
