The damp air and heat of the dungeon clung to Ingrid's skin, heavy with the scent of rot and iron. The cold metal of the chains around her wrists bit into her flesh. She exhaled shakily, her breath barely visible in the dim torchlight.
This was it. The end. She was going to die here.
She had come with one goal—to kill Vesarius Rage. But instead, she was the one trapped, waiting for death at the hands of the man she swore to destroy. The same man who looked at her like she was nothing more than a plaything, something to break slowly. A cruel twist of fate.
How foolish had she been to think she stood a chance against him? To believe she could deceive a monster born from death and carnage itself?
Her eyelids fluttered shut. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end.
Then, a sound. A faint echo of footsteps.
