The underground cell was damp, the air thick with the stench of mold and rusted metal. Charles groaned as Jackson and two of Damian’s men dragged him from the trunk, his limp body barely able to support its own weight. Damian stood at the entrance of the cell, arms crossed, his expression unreadable except for the flicker of rage in his eyes.

“Wake him up,” Damian ordered, his voice sharp as steel.

One of the men threw a bucket of ice-cold water over Charles, causing him to sputter and jerk back into consciousness. His eyes, still glazed from the beating, widened as he realized where he was. The surroundings of...