"You are going to wish," Bai Zhenwei said softly, almost a whisper, "that the axe had fallen."
The words didn't echo.
They slid across the stone like a cold breath, curling around the iron chains and slipping straight into Ethan's bones. The torches along the pillars flickered, their flames bending low as if bowing to him. Shadows hid in corners, trembling like animals that knew the alpha had arrived.
This hall was not just a torture chamber.
It was a den.
And Bai Zhenwei was not walking in as a man. He was walking in as the thing that owned the darkness.
Ethan hung suspended, wrists shackled high above his head. The chains pulled his shoulders until the joints felt like they were being slowly unseated. His toes barely brushed the floor. Just enough to keep him aware of gravity. Just enough to deny him rest.
His arms were streaked with blood—some dry, some still warm. It slid down, drop by drop, and gathered beneath him in a small, humiliating puddle.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
