Drake’s POV

I stormed through the cold stone corridors of the council prison, my boots slamming against the ground with every step. Fury burned through me, my hands clenched into fists so tight my knuckles ached.

Philip.

The traitor. The bastard who had worked with Sierra.

I had been patient for too long, but patience hadn’t brought my son back. I wasn’t here to negotiate. I was here for answers.

As I neared Philip’s cell, the stench of sweat, damp stone, and decay hit me like a punch to the face. The bastard sat casually against the back wall, his hands shackled, yet his expression was one of pure amusement....