The dungeon beneath the pack house carried a cold that seeped into the bones, gnawing at every joint.
Stone walls held the damp scent of earth and iron, and a narrow slit of a window high above allowed only a thin blade of gray daylight to slip into the cell. It was enough to reveal three wolves, far from calm.
Ronan had been pacing for nearly an hour. Back and forth across the narrow space, his boots scraping against the stone floor with a restless rhythm that echoed down the corridor. Every few steps he dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tight, muscles twitching with tension.
Kael sat on the wooden bench bolted against the wall, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together. At first, his stillness seemed relaxed, but his dark eyes followed Ronan's pacing with quiet intensity, measuring each step like a threat in motion.
