The silver-masked figures moved as one, their footsteps echoing loudly in the chamber. Their slow, steady pace felt like an unstoppable force. Ronan struggled against the iron grip that held him. He twisted and pulled, every muscle in his body fighting to break free, but it was useless.
Their hands were like a vice, clasped tight around his arms and neck, cold and unyielding. He could break the hold of no one; his strength meant nothing against their hold.
Ronan ground his teeth in rage, anger burning through him, but as he saw the scene before him, it was as if all the fight was sucked out of his body.
Celeste and Cian lay on the stone floor, their bodies broken and battered. Neither of them moved.
Ronan's heart sank, and the pain in his chest became unbearable. "No… Celeste… Cian!" His voice broke on the words, raw and full of despair. He thrashed harder, a desperate scream tearing from his throat. "What have you done to them?"
