I woke with a gasp, the sharp pain in my chest reminding imdiately of where I was. The cold floor of my prison cell felt like ice against my battered body. Blinking away the fog of unconsciousness, I forced myself to focus on my surroundings.
The dim lights of the corridor cast long shadows across the floor. Opposite , in her own cell, Isabelle sat huddled against the wall. Her once vibrant eyes were red-rimd and hollow. When she noticed I was awake, a flicker of relief crossed her face.
"You're still alive," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I was afraid they'd beaten you to death."
I tried to smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. "Takes more than that to kill ."
Isabelle pressed her palm against the energy barrier separating us. The faint blue glow illuminated the fresh bruises on her arm—evidence of another "extraction" session.
"This is all my fault," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "If you hadn't co for —"
"Don't," I cut her off, shifting painfully to face her better. "I chose this. I'd make the sa choice a thousand tis over."
She shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Look at what they've done to you. You're scheduled for execution, and for what? For trying to save ?" Her voice cracked. "I'm not worth this, Liam."
"You're worth everything," I said firmly, even as another wave of pain washed over . "And this isn't over yet."
Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor. We both tensed, our conversation dying instantly. The steps were asured, confident—the walk of soone with power.
Darian Bancroft appeared outside our cells, his pristine Guild Master uniform a stark contrast to our filthy surroundings. His cold eyes assessed with clinical detachnt.
"Awake already?" he remarked, sounding almost impressed. "Your resilience is remarkable, Knight. Most n would still be unconscious after what you endured."
I stared back at him silently, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
Bancroft smiled thinly. "The forcible enhancent of your power should have killed you. Instead, it rely incapacitated you temporarily. Fascinating."
"What do you want?" I growled.
"To see how my investnt is progressing," he replied casually. "The High Council arrives tomorrow. They're quite eager to witness your execution."
Isabelle made a small, strangled sound. Bancroft's attention shifted to her, his smile widening.
"Don't worry, Miss Ashworth. You won't be joining him—at least not imdiately. You're far too valuable for that."
"Please," Isabelle said, her voice barely audible. "Let him go. I'll do anything you ask. I'll cooperate fully with your procedures. Just let Liam live."
Bancroft laughed, the sound echoing harshly against the stone walls. "A touching offer, but entirely unnecessary. You'll cooperate regardless. As for Knight..." He turned back to . "His fate was sealed the mont he entered Veridia City."
I forced myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the screaming protest from my muscles. "You're making a mistake, Bancroft."
"Am I?" His eyebrow arched. "You're powerless. Your allies are either dead or in hiding. Your body is broken." He gestured dismissively. "You're nothing more than an ordinary man now."
The irony of his statent almost made laugh. If only he knew.
"Speaking of ordinary n," Bancroft continued, glancing back toward the corridor entrance, "you have another visitor. Soone quite eager to see you in your current state."
Heavy footsteps approached, and a familiar figure stepped into view. My jaw clenched involuntarily.
Dashiell Blackthorne.
He looked exactly as I rembered—expensively dressed, perfectly grood, and wearing an expression of smug superiority. The only difference was the faint scar across his cheek—a souvenir from our last encounter.
"Knight," he sneered, eyes glittering with malice. "How the mighty have fallen."
Isabelle's face went pale. "Dashiell."
He barely spared her a glance. "Hello, ex-fiancée. You're looking... unwell."
"What's he doing here?" I demanded, glaring at Bancroft.
"Young Master Blackthorne requested an audience," Bancroft replied smoothly. "Given his family's considerable influence, I saw no reason to refuse."
Dashiell stepped closer to my cell, examining through the barrier with undisguised satisfaction. "I've dread of this mont. The great Liam Knight, reduced to nothing."
"Get in line," I said flatly. "There are better n than you waiting for their shot."
His face flushed with anger. "Still arrogant, even now? You destroyed my wedding. Humiliated in front of everyone who matters in this city."
"You did that yourself when you tried to force Isabelle to marry you," I replied coolly. For a better reading experience, visit *).
Dashiell turned to Bancroft. "You said he was weakened. That the procedure stripped him of his powers."
"It did," Bancroft confird. "Right now, he's no different from any ordinary person. His ridians are shattered, his cultivation base destroyed. The man who defeated you no longer exists."
A slow, cruel smile spread across Dashiell's face. "Open the cell."
Bancroft hesitated briefly. "That wasn't part of our arrangent."
"My father would be disappointed to hear you denied this small courtesy," Dashiell said pointedly. "After all your talk about cooperation between the Guild and the Blackthorne family."
For a mont, tension hung in the air. Then Bancroft nodded to a guard. "Five minutes. No permanent damage. The Council wants him intact for tomorrow."
"No!" Isabelle cried, slamming her hands against her barrier. "Darian, don't do this!"
Bancroft ignored her, gesturing for the guard to proceed. With a touch to the control panel, my cell barrier flickered and disappeared.
Dashiell stepped inside, cracking his knuckles theatrically. "I've been waiting for this."
I remained seated, watching him calmly. There was sothing almost pathetic about his need for this mont. Behind him, I could see Bancroft observing with detached curiosity, like a scientist watching an experint unfold.
"Nothing to say, Knight?" Dashiell taunted, looming over . "No clever remarks? No threats?"
I shrugged slightly. "What's there to say? You need ard guards and a prison cell to face . Speaks for itself, doesn't it?"
His face contorted with rage. "You think I'm afraid of you? Look at yourself!"
"Dashiell, please," Isabelle begged from her cell. "He's already hurt. This proves nothing."
"Shut up!" he snapped, not taking his eyes off . "He needs to learn his place. The place he should have stayed in from the beginning."
I t his gaze steadily. "And where's that?"
"Beneath my boot," he snarled, drawing back his fist.
The punch ca fast—but not fast enough. Despite my battered state, despite what everyone in that room believed about my condition, my hand shot up and caught his fist mid-air.
Dashiell froze, his expression shifting from rage to shock in an instant. He stared at my hand wrapped around his fist, completely halting his attack.
"What—" he began, eyes widening.
"Miscalculation," I said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
In that mont, everything changed. The certainty in Dashiell's eyes gave way to confusion, then to the first glimrs of fear. He tried to pull his hand back, but I held firm, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.
"That's not possible," he whispered, face draining of color. "They said you were powerless."
I tilted my head slightly. "Maybe you shouldn't believe everything you're told."
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