The stone walls of the cell held an air thick with the scent of mold, iron, and blood.

For months, she had served in this home, playing the role of a maid named Jane, all while gathering intelligence for the rebellion. She overheard war meetings, passed coded notes, and made secret phone calls in town.

Now, she knelt on the hard stone ground, ropes biting into her wrists, her body aching. She had been here for hours, wearing nothing but a nightgown, having been caught and taken in the middle of the damn night.

She had always been careful—never too inquisitive, never in the wrong place for too long. Yet here she was, in the torture chambers beneath the manor.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Measured. Unhurried.

She forced her head up just as he stepped into the light.

Lord Everhart. The man she had been spying on.

A few moments passed before he crouched in front of her, grasping her chin with gloved fingers. “Who sent you?” he asked.

“You think I’ll tell you anything?”

“You’ll tell me something eventually.” He studied her, his gaze sharp. “I should have seen it. But you played your part well.”

She felt a rush of satisfaction, despite her predicament. She had fooled him for months. If nothing else, that was a victory.

“Understand your position. Your people will not rescue you. But if you cooperate, I might be merciful.”

She let out a breathy laugh—he knew her real name now. “I would rather die than betray my cause.”

He studied her, something unreadable passing behind his gaze. Then he turned to the guard by the door. “Leave us.”

The guard hesitated. “My lord—”

“Leave.”

With a nod, the man exited.

Damian released her chin and stood, turning towards a table in the the room. Laid across it were tools meant to break a person.

Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to breathe evenly. She had prepared for this scenario. The question was whether she had the strength to endure it.

"I don't enjoy wasting my time," he said. "Give me what I want, and I’ll make this quick.”