Polan sighed, looking at Gessa with tragic disappointment. “Look at you. Filthy. Shaking. It breaks my heart to see you reduced to this.” He stepped closer, tilting her chin up with a finger. “I had hoped we could have a civilized dinner tonight. To celebrate your return. But you are in no condition for company.”
He turned to the guards. “Take them to the lower cells. Not the pit—the stone rooms. I want her to sleep. I want her fed.” He looked back. His smile was benevolent. Chilling. “Recover yourstrength, Gessa. We have a lot of work to do to fix what he broke in you. And I want you awake for it.”
Rough hands hauled her up. The walk was a blur. They were led to a series of cells carved directly into the cliff face, sealed by oak doors reinforced with iron bands.
They shoved Ky into one and Gessa into the next. The door slammed shut, the bolt sliding home, sealing her in darkness.
She collapsed against the cold stone wall, sliding down until she hit the dirt floor. The iron collar felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
“Gessa?”
Ky’s voice came from the wall to her right. It was low, urgent, pressed tight against the stone.
She dragged herself over. “I’m here,” she whispered, forehead against the damp rock
“Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”
“No,” she breathed. “I’m just... the iron. It’s so quiet, Ky. It feels dead.”
“I know. Listen to me. Breathe.” There was a suffocating pause. “You heard him? About Night?”
“He’s going to use him,” she said, tears spilling over. “He kept him alive to break you.”
“I know,” Ky said. His voice wasn’t fearful; it was cold. Flat. “But he made a mistake, Gessa. A fatal one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Polan is a politician. He thinks in terms of assets and debts. He thinks Night is just a lever to control me.” Ky’s voice dropped, vibrating through the stone. “He doesn’t understand what a Soul-Beastis. He thinks he locked up a hostage.”
“Isn’t he?”
“No,” Ky whispered. “He’s an apex predator who can walk through walls. Polan thinks he’s secured a weakness. He doesn’trealize he just invited a monster into the center of his camp... and gave him a reason to hunt.”
“Ky...”
“Night is alive. That’s all that matters. As long as he’s breathing, we are still in this fight. Do not give up. Do you hear me? Rest. Eat whatever they give you. We need strength.”
His voice was a lifeline in the dark. He wasn’t the broken man she had met in the woods; he was the strategist, already looking for the angle.
“I hear you,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes, leaning against the cold stone that separated them. She was a prisoner, collared and drained, but she wasn’t alone.
An hour later, the heavy bolt scraped back. Gessa flinched, scrambling away from the door, but it didn’t open. Instead, a slat at the bottom slid aside, and a wooden tray was shoved through, skidding across the dirt floor.
Gessa stared at it. It wasn’t prison gruel. It was a bowl of rich, dark stew, a thick heel of crusty bread still warm from the oven, and a small skin of watered wine.
It was a meal for a guest, served on the floor of a cage.
Her stomach churned, revolting at the luxury of it. It was rich, soft food—the kind she had eaten at Polan’s table—and the mere thought of that pampered texture sliding down her throat made her gag. The iron collar made swallowing feel impossible, like trying to eat with a hand tight around her throat. She wanted to kick the tray away. She wanted to starve rather than accept his “charity.”
Eat whatever they give you.
Ky’s voice echoed in her memory.We need strength.
With shaking hands, she dragged the tray closer. She dipped the bread into the stew and forced herself to eat, choking down the food not for sustenance, but as a tactical maneuver. Shedrank the wine and felt a ghost of warmth return to her shivering limbs.
She pushed the empty tray away and curled up on the single, thick woolen blanket they had provided. It was high-quality wool, soft and clean—another jarring reminder that she wasn’t being punished; she was being kept. The silence in her head was deafening, but the exhaustion was a heavier weight.
