Darkness tasted like rust and smoke.
For the first time since his disappearance, Damian Moretti opened his eyes fully not to safety, not to familiar shadows, but to a cell carved from stone and steel.
Chains bit into his wrists, iron cuffs digging deep enough to draw blood.
He lifted his head.
Every muscle screamed.
Every breath burned.
But his mind sharp, calculating had not broken.
Not yet.
Not ever.
The room was dim, lit only by a flickering industrial bulb that hummed overhead. The scent of damp stone, metal, and old blood clung to the air. His blood.
He inhaled slowly.
So this is where you put me, Father.
He tested the chain. It rattled sturdy, reinforced, bolted into the concrete wall.
Someone wanted him alive.
Someone wanted him contained.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Heavy. Purposeful. Familiar.
Damian's jaw tightened.
