Hazel’s POV

The cells smell like my mother’s nightmares.

Damp stone. Old blood.

I sit with my back to the wall, knees pulled to my chest, listening to Alaric’s screams echo down from the pack house. They’re muffled by distance, but I hear them. I feel them. The mate bond is a live wire in my chest, sparking with his pain.

Like mother, like daughter.

Vincent’s words. Ella’s smile. The elders’ eyes.

They want me to break. To cry. To confess.

I won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Hazel.”

The whisper comes from the cell next to mine. Hoarse. Broken. Familiar in a way that makes my ribs ache.

I crawl...