Darius's POV
Cold stone pressed against my back as I stared at the ceiling of my jail cell. Three days since they'd thrown me in here. Three days since everything fell apart.
The pack jail smelled like mold and old blood. My blood. The silver-laced bars had burned my hands when I'd tested them the first day.
No one came except to slide boring food through the slot. No visitors. No trial. Just silence.
I'd wronged Kieran, and now both sides had abandoned me.
My ribs ached where Elena had kicked me after they'd caught me trying to signal the Syndicate during the escape from the temple. The memory of Kieran's facethe hurt that flashed before the ragewas worse than any physical pain.
"You were like a brother to me," he'd growled before turning away forever.
A sound outside my cell made me sit up. Footsteps. Too light to be a guard.
"Who's there?" My voice cracked from disuse.
