Smoke curled like fingers through the cracks in the stone floor, and the faint stench of blood soaked the air before Nadia even saw it.
Helen forced her forward.
"Keep your eyes open," she hissed. "She wants you to see."
Her brother.
Her father.
The torch-lit corridor flickered with shadows, damp stone walls closing in like a coffin. Chains rattled somewhere deeper in the dark. A scream—cut short—echoed from a neighboring room.
Then came the drag.
A pair of robed men heaved two bodies across the floor. Armor scraped against stone. One of them groaned—a raw, broken sound that twisted in Nadia's gut.
Her brother.
Her father.
They were dumped on the floor in front of her, limp and bloodied. Their clothes were shredded, soaked dark with dried blood and dirt. Her brother's chest rose shallowly, a fractured wheeze in his throat. Her father reached out, barely conscious, fingertips trembling.
Nadia lunged instinctively—but Helen grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back.
