Winter's Fall (III)

The sterile silence of the underground facility was oppressive. The Frost family's holding room, designed to strip away any semblance of power or identity, felt like a tomb.

Every surface was pristine, every corner devoid of anything that could be used to manipulate the environment. The very air seemed to hum with restraint, as if the room itself were alive and watching.

Lady Selyna sat stiffly in her chair, her icy composure now a fragile veneer over the roiling frustration inside her. Her wrists, bound tightly to the table by reinforced restraints, ached, but it wasn't the physical discomfort that gnawed at her—it was the complete loss of control.

Kael leaned back in his own chair, his battered face set in a grimace. His icy-blue eyes, usually filled with cocky arrogance, were dull and brooding.

Across from him, Lyra sat in silence, her fingers twitching slightly against the metal table, her expression distant.