“Stop!” Elara cried, her voice rough as she rattled the bars. She watched them shove and kick, forcing the Sidhe into tight lines. Her heart thundered as horror clawed through her, leaving her helpless to do anything but watch.
And then five of them peeled off toward Reynnar’s cell.
Her stomach plummeted, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She bolted to the right of her cell, peering through the bars.
Reynnar stood motionless, his expression carved from stone.
Accepting.
No.
That wasn’t him.
That wasn’t what he had taught her.
They didn’t bow to despair, didn’t surrender to pain or hopelessness. They fought. They endured. No matter howimpossible it seemed. He’d drilled it into her time and again:You resist. Always resist.
“Reynnar!”
Her voice broke as they stormed into his cell. The crackle ofDraothfilled the air, a sickening hum as they forced him to the ground.
“Fight back!” she cried, as the first blow landed—a brutal punch to his gut that made him double over. Another followed, a boot to his ribs, then another, until the assault became a blur of fists, boots, and rawDraothbattering him from every side. But Reynnar didn’t cry out. He didn’t flinch. He just took it—every hit, every strike—as if he had already resigned himself to this fate.
“Stop, please, stop!”Elara sobbed, her vision blurred with tears as she slammed her fists against the bars.
“Show them only your rage!”
The same words he had spoken to her when she first arrived in the Pit—broken and defeated, ready to give up. He had pieced her back together, brick by brick, showing her what true strength looked like. What it meant to be brave.
Reynnar's eyes met hers, and something inside her shattered. Her heart cracked open, bleeding into the hollow of her chest. The defeat in his gaze—the quiet resignation—was enough to choke her.
He’d given up—accepted his death—known this was coming, had made peace with it long before she could have imagined, and he hadn’t told her.
“No!” she gasped, barely able to breathe, barely able to speak past the sobs tearing through her as they dragged his limp body out of the cell.
Elara crumpled against the iron bars, breath hitching. Her fingers clung to the metal, nails scraping over rusted edges until they split, the sting barely registering. Nothing did—notthe blood streaking her hands, not the ache in her chest that felt sharp enough to break her ribs. All she could feel was the despair, the crushing emptiness that made it hard to breathe.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t the plan.
She had failed him. Failed everyone.
She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, trying to hold herself together. The guilt was unbearable, suffocating. Pressing her forehead to the bars, she gasped for air.
A sound snapped Elara from her spiral, and she shot to her feet, head swimming.
Malak stood there, his face twisted into a smug, satisfied grin.
"Your little pet get his arse kicked, eh? I told you to stay clear of him, didn’t I? But no, you had to be clever, had to go learning his bloody tongue like a fool." He tsked, shaking his head slowly, mock pity dripping from every movement. “What did you think was gonna happen?"
Elara’s blood boiled, rage coursing through her so fast she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She reared her head back and spat in his face. "I’m going to kill you," she seethed, her voice steady, cold,lethal. "I’m going to gouge your eyes from your skull, rip my nails down your worthless face, and tear out your gods-damned throat.”
Malak didn’t react—didn’t even wipe the spit from his cheek as he stepped into her cell. His fist connected before she could brace, the blow so brutal her world went black before the pain could follow.
Just cold, numbing darkness—always more familiar, more forgiving than the light.
Chapter 55
Elara gritted her teeth, struggling to keep her temper in check as a flurry of attendants scrubbed her skin until it burned, their rough hands working at the dirt under her nails with tiny metal picks.
