A piercing whistle split the morning air like a blade through silence.
"Up, you bastards! Move it!"
The sharp voice of a soldier thundered through the prison halls, followed by the loud clanging of a baton dragging across the metal bars. One by one, groggy prisoners stirred inside the cramped cells, their eyes squinting against the pale morning light leaking through the high, grated windows.
Daemon sat up slowly, instinctively placing a hand over his chest. It still felt sore from where he'd been shoved around the day before, but the pain was dull now—manageable. His red eyes flicked toward William, who was still curled up in the corner, arms over his head.
"Kid," Daemon said, his voice low but firm. "Wake up. They're coming."
William groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Is it morning already? Ugh... it feels like I didn't sleep at all."
The guards unlocked the cell doors with metallic clunks, and a gruff soldier stepped in.
