POV: Holly
Korren did not rush her suffering.
That was the worst part.
The room he kept her in was not a dungeon. There were no chains on the walls, no bloodstains ground into stone. It was clean. Warm. Almost gentle in its deception. A small bed with thick blankets. A table. A chair. A single window set too high to see anything but gray winter light.
If she squinted, if she let herself blur the edges of reality just enough, she could almost pretend she was a guest.
Almost.
Holly sat at the table, staring at the cup in front of her.
Steam curled lazily from the surface, carrying the faint scent of herbs. Chamomile, maybe. Mint. Something earthy beneath it that made her nose wrinkle.
“You should drink it before it cools.”
Korren leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed l
