Stevie

The torchlight outside his cell flickers against the stone, like the flames are trying to breathe for the whole underground. Down here, the air is heavy—old earth, old blood, old grudges. I sit cross-legged just outside the bars, my back against the damp wall, elbows resting on my knees.

The male sits on the other side, his large frame folded awkwardly as if the iron bars have shrunk the space around him. His eyes are a strange pale amber—wolf-glow without the wolf showing. He watches me quietly while we talk, like he’s memorizing everything I say.

It’s different tonight. The wolf in him hasn’t brought up Silver Fang, or...