The air in the damp, shadowy prison was heavy with the metallic stench of blood and rust. Chains rattled faintly as a cold draft seeped through the stone walls. Xavier hung suspended, his muscular frame bound by thick ropes that cut into his skin, leaving angry red welts. His body bore the marks of his ordeal: wounds ranging from freshly scabbed cuts to scars already fading into his skin. His breathing was shallow, his head drooped forward, unconscious.
But in his mind, he wasn't in the prison.
He was standing in a sunlit meadow. The warm glow of the sun was a rare comfort, and the scent of wildflowers danced on the breeze. A soft laugh caught his attention, a sound that tugged at something deep within him.
"Adrianna," he whispered.
