81

81

Adrian's POV

The dungeon had its own personality—cold, damp, and indifferent. It wasn't the kind of place you visited and left unchanged. The air itself seemed to cling to my skin, heavy with mildew and the stench of despair. It would've been poetic if it wasn't so utterly miserable.

But I wasn't broken. Not yet.

I leaned back against the rough stone wall, staring at the single barred window high above. A thin beam of light crept in, mocking me with its freedom. My wolf stirred within me, stronger than it had been in days. Whatever poison Mason had pumped into my system was losing its grip.

The sound of boots on stone echoed through the narrow corridor, pulling me from my thoughts. I tensed, instinctively curling my hands into fists. The steps were deliberate, unhurried. I would recognize it anywhere.

Mason.