105
Mason's POV
The dungeon was colder than usual. Or maybe that was just my mood.
Emily sat chained to the chair, her wrists raw from the silver cuffs. She was slumped forward, her red-rimmed eyes half-closed, but I knew she wasn't asleep. Not when my men had been making sure she stayed awake for the past two days.
She was stubborn. I had to give her that. Most would have broken by now—hell, most had broken faster than this. But Emily? She just sat there, quiet and miserable, clinging to whatever pathetic scraps of defiance she had left.
Pathetic. I scoffed, rolling my eyes and shaking my head as I eyed her.
I stepped closer, my boots echoing against the stone floor. "Good morning, Emily."
She didn't answer.
I sighed, rolling my shoulders. "You look like hell. But I guess that's what happens when you make bad choices."
Still nothing.
