Rowan had lost track of time.
The Hollow Temple had no windows, no sun, no stars. Only shadows, stone, and the sound of dripping water echoing endlessly down the corridors. Chains bound his wrists, ancient runes etched into the metal seeping venom into his veins. Magic suppression, Voryn called it. A living prison that fed on willpower.
But Rowan had something stronger than will.
He had love.
Even now, weak and barely breathing, he clung to the memory of her—Aria. Her laughter. Her stubbornness. The way she used to look at him like he was more than just a guard, more than the blood he carried. She had saved him from his past. And now, he was being twisted into a weapon against her.
The chamber door groaned open.
"Awake again, little loyal wolf?" Voryn stepped inside, robes dragging across the stone. His silver eyes glittered in the torchlight. "Still dreaming of her?"
Rowan didn't answer.
