Marshall’s POV

Winter came late that year, but when it finally arrived, it hit like a punishment.

The cell walls turned into stone ice, and the air bit through the thin prison uniform like teeth. At night, even the floor seemed to breathe cold. Every breath I took felt sharp in my throat.

We had one blanket each, rough, thin, and useless. Most nights, I curled into myself and tried to ignore the ache in my fingers. But this week, something felt different.

Francesco had grown quieter than usual.

It started small, a cough here and there, a quiet sniff, a wince when he turned his head too fast. I...