The Pact

Rowan.

The air in the dungeon chamber was damp, the faint scent of moss and stone heavy in the space. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows against the cold walls, their heat doing little to stave off the chill that permeated the low, musty room. The clang of the iron doors echoed behind me as I stepped in, the sound of it almost final, marking the distance between where I had been and where I now found myself.

Melody sat on the floor, her back against the stone wall, her arms crossed, her face unreadable. The shackles on her wrists were tight, but the water's dampening effect had drained much of her strength, leaving her too weary to do much more than glare at me. Her golden eyes flickered in the dim light, brighter than any flame, sharp and unforgiving.