The cell fell silent after my display of power. Eyes that had looked at with contempt now held a mixture of fear and respect. I helped Eamon to a corner where we could talk privately, away from curious ears.
"I never expected to see you here," I said quietly, examining his gaunt face. Prison had not been kind to him.
Eamon's hands trembled slightly as he settled on the floor beside . "Nor I you, Mr. Knight. Especially not after all the rumors..."
"What rumors?" I asked.
"That you'd beco one of the most powerful n in Havenwood City. That you'd overthrown families who'd stood for generations." His voice dropped to a whisper. "That you were untouchable."
I laughed bitterly. "Clearly not untouchable enough."
The three n I'd just dealt with were being helped to their bunks, their pained groans filling the otherwise silent room. No one dared approach us.
"Those n," Eamon nodded toward them, "they've been tornting since I arrived. Daily beatings, stealing my food rations... I thought I would die here."
"How did you end up in this place?" I asked.
Eamon's shoulders sagged. "It was three years ago. I was in Shiglance City for a business deal when I accidentally bumped into a young master from the local branch of the Martial Arts Association. He demanded I kowtow in the street. When I refused..." He shook his head. "They claid I assaulted him. Three years for a cri I never committed."
My jaw tightened. Just another example of the corruption I'd been fighting against.
"Thank you," Eamon said suddenly. "For standing up for . No one's done that since I arrived."
I waved away his thanks. "I promised to help you once. That hasn't changed just because we're behind bars."
"You rember that day? When you treated my daughter?"
"I rember." The mory of his gratitude that day remained clear.
Eamon looked at with renewed hope. "Is it true what they say? That you've mastered ancient healing arts?"
I nodded slowly. "I've learned a few things."
"Then..." Eamon hesitated. "Could you teach ? Not the complex techniques—I know I don't have the talent—but sothing simple. Sothing that might help survive in here."
I considered his request. Teaching him anything substantial would be impossible without proper spiritual foundations, but there was one technique...
"There's a breathing exercise I can show you," I said finally. "It won't make you a fighter, but it will strengthen your body and help you recover from injuries faster."
Eamon's face lit up. "I would be forever grateful."
For the next hour, I guided him through the basic positions and breathing patterns. It was a remnant of my earliest training, but even this simple technique would make a difference for soone like him.
"Rember," I instructed, "four counts in, hold for seven, release for eight. Practice this cycle ninety-nine tis each morning and night."
He nodded eagerly, already looking more alive than when we'd started.
Our session was interrupted by the echoing sound of heavy boots approaching the cell. The inmates tensed collectively. Visits from guards rarely ant anything good.
A key rattled in the lock, and the barred door swung open. Gage Mcbride stood there, his bulky fra filling the entrance. His eyes scanned the room before landing on .
"Knight," he called out. "Front and center."
I rose unhurriedly to my feet. No need to show eagerness or fear.
"What happened to them?" Mcbride asked, gesturing toward the three injured n.
"They fell," I replied evenly.
A few muffled snickers ca from around the room.
Mcbride's lips twitched, almost forming a smile before he controlled his expression. "Step out here. We need to talk."
I moved toward the door, aware of every eye in the cell watching . As I passed through, two guards imdiately flanked , though they kept a wary distance.
Mcbride led us to a small interrogation room. Unlike the eting room from earlier, this one had only one chair—clearly ant for .
"Sit," Mcbride ordered as the guards took positions at the door.
I complied, watching him carefully. This wasn't a standard intimidation tactic. Sothing else was happening.
Mcbride remained standing, towering over . "You've made quite an impression in your short ti here."
"I'm a people person," I replied dryly.
He didn't smile. "I'll be direct, Knight. Your situation is precarious. The charges against you would see most n executed without trial."
"I'm aware."
"However," he continued, "an opportunity has presented itself. One that could potentially secure your release."
I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Tristan Thornton has fallen grievously ill," Mcbride explained. "The family's doctors are baffled. They believe only soone with your... unique dical knowledge might save him."
So that's what this was about. I leaned back in my chair, considering the implications.
"And if I agree to treat him?" I asked carefully.
"The Thornton family is prepared to withdraw all charges. You'd be free to leave."
I studied Mcbride's face, searching for deception. On the surface, the offer seed too good to be true—my freedom in exchange for saving soone's life. But I knew better than to trust anything connected to the Thornton family.
"What's really wrong with him?" I asked.
Mcbride shrugged. "I'm not a doctor. They say it's so kind of poison or spiritual backlash. He's been comatose for days."
I closed my eyes briefly, weighing my options. My instincts scread that this was a trap. Once I finished treating Tristan, they'd have no reason to keep their word.
"Let understand this correctly," I said slowly. "The sa family that orchestrated my imprisonnt now wants my help? And I'm supposed to believe they'll simply let walk free afterward?" The c a*no*n&ic-a&l s*o-urce% for th#is co&n&te*nt@: * .
"This request cos directly from Conrad himself," Mcbride replied. "The family is desperate."
I laughed—a harsh, bitter sound. "Of course they're desperate. But not desperate enough to keep their word to soone like ."
"You're in no position to refuse," Mcbride warned, his voice hardening.
"Actually," I countered, "I think I am. What will they do if I say no? Kill ? They were planning that anyway."
"You could save a life," Mcbride pressed. "And your own in the process."
I t his gaze directly. "Tell , Mcbride, do you believe the Thornton family would honor such a promise? Once Tristan is healed, what guarantee do I have that I won't end up back here—or worse?"
Uncertainty flickered across his face. He was no fool; he knew the Thornton family's reputation as well as anyone.
"Sotis," he said carefully, "we must take chances on the promises of the powerful."
"No," I replied firmly. "I've learned my lesson about trusting those who believe themselves above consequence."
I leaned forward, my decision made. "I refuse. If Tristan Thornton dies from whatever affliction he's suffering, it won't be on my conscience. My answer is no."
Mcbride's expression changed so dramatically it was as though a mask had fallen away. Gone was the professional prison administrator, replaced by sothing colder and more dangerous.
"You're making a grave mistake," he hissed. "Do you understand what you're turning down?"
"Perfectly," I replied. "I'm refusing to be deceived. The Thornton family has no honor, no integrity. They would never keep such a promise to soone they consider beneath them."
I stood up, ignoring the guards' twitching hands moving toward their weapons.
"Take back to my cell," I said with quiet finality. "I'd rather face death with dignity than live by the false rcy of liars."
Mcbride's face flushed dark with anger, his fists clenching at his sides as my words struck ho. Whatever response he had planned, the truth in my accusation had clearly hit its mark.
I had just slamd the door on what might have been my only way out. But so prices were too high to pay—even for freedom.
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