And she’s only telling us thisnow?
Roran
“Get your dirty hands off me,” I snarl, fighting his grip as he drags me forward by the arm.
I nearly fall—one heel missing, hands bound tight with thick rope, Malec’s shirt torn at the bottom. I don’t even know what happened after I was knocked out and brought here, but I feel like hell. Probably look like it too.
“I think you forgot who’s calling the shots here,” he grits, then shoves me forward.
I catch myself with my elbows before I faceplant, hissing through the sharp jolt of pain as they slam into the ground.
“Ivan’s coming any second. You wait here,” he adds before stepping out and locking the door behind him.
Another dark room. Great. At least this time, only my hands are tied. And not to a wall.
I force myself upright, shifting onto my knees, then stretching toward my one remaining heel. Gripping it between both hands, I wrench it off and toss it aside. No point limping like a newborn deer.
Balancing with my arms awkwardly forward, I rise to my feet in a careful, clunky motion. The room is empty—same as the last. One plastic chair and a rusted metal table, but this one has light, at least. Not much, but enough to see my surroundings clearly.
There’s a window here, too—higher than the one before.
What the hell is this place?
If this is howFedorkeeps all of the rooms, it’s not just some abandoned dump. This is something else. Some kind of underground torture prison?
And if Diana’s here...
Then this isn’t just one of his secret holding rooms.
This is the Red Dock.
Fuck.
I wish Malec were here. Wish he’d show up and tear this place apart to get us out.
No.
Roran, don’t start with that. You saw it with your own eyes—he’s a monster.
His whole family is. Literal monsters.
As always, it’s up to me to crawl out of hell. I’m not stopping until Diana’s safe. That’s all that matters now.
I scan the room again, looking for options. I shuffle toward the table, twist my wrists so the rope knot catches on the corner, and drag it to the wall—directly beneath the window. Then the chair.
Stack it in front of the table.
With no hesitation—I climb up, stepping carefully onto the table, balancing on my toes.
The window is high, but from here, finally, I can see through.
And I wish I didn’t.
My breath catches at the disturbing sight—at least fifteen people chained to chairs, completely naked. If some of them hadn’t blinked, I’d think they were all dead. Their bodies limp in the chains’ grip, heads thrown back like puppets with cut strings.
I stretch my neck farther, trying to get a better view—guards, exits, windows,anythingthat could help.
Then I remember that girl—Orbit. She said they injected her neck with something. I squint at the ones closest to me and gasp at the bruises on their necks. No.
