Kael's POV.
I stood in the dungeon, my heart pounding, my fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms.
The air was damp, filled with the smell of rust and mold, the torches flickering, casting weak light on the stone walls.
Elijah was tied to a pole, his wrists bound, his dark hair matted, his face bruised, but his eyes, those eyes I'd trusted, glinted with something dark, something cruel.
Brian's words echoed, cutting deep: "Elijah's from the Fang pack. He was a spy. He started the fire."
My chest ached, betrayal burning hotter than the unhealing wound on my side, still bloody under the bandage.
Elijah, my former Gamma, my friend, who'd fought beside me, laughed with me, vanished two years ago, leaving me to mourn him, thinking he was dead.
