LUCIEN’S POV

“Judging by the look in your eyes,” Harrison said, that twisted smirk still playing on his lips like he was enjoying every second of this hell, “you want to know.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if he was reading my soul. The knife in his hand made my stomach churn.

The air in the cellar was thick, heavy with the musty scent of damp stone and old blood. Every breath felt like inhaling poison, the tension wrapping around us like chains, pulling tighter with every word he spoke.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat was too dry, my mind racing too fast. How? How the hell...