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His admission hung in the air between us, raw and honest as I clung to his presence, to the strength of his hands like a lifeline.

Another scream tore through the darkness, ricocheting off the walls and slamming into me like a physical blow. I flinched, my body uncontrollably trembling and curling in on itself as I struggled to breathe through the terror gripping my chest. A whimper slipped from my lips as Dukovich made a low sound, almost a growl in response.

His hands slid down to cradle my face, his touch gentle despite the desperation in his grip. “Stay with me, love. Don’t let your mind go back there. Stay here, right here with me.”

I tried to focus on his words, on the sensation of his skin against mine, but the memories were relentless, battering downthe fragile walls I’d built to contain them. The stench of blood and sweat, the searing agony of a blade slicing into flesh, the Svech being pressed into my wounds, the Uthrens wrapping around my body, the white-hot kiss of the brand plunging into my side, the hoarse pleas that echoed endlessly in the pit. They all came rushing back, threatening to drag me under, crashing over my mind in never-ending waves.

My body shuddered as another wail ripped into the air, echoing off the musty walls. Dukovich’s hands pulled me closer, his hot breathing flowing against my face as he spoke. “Listen to me, Ataliia. You will get through this. I swear it.”

“I can’t . . .” I whispered, my voice raw and broken. “What if they—”

“No,” he cut me off. “I will not let them take you from me. I will die before I let them take you from me.”

Another sob wracked my body and I pressed myself closer to the bars, desperate to feel his solid presence, to anchor myself to something real amidst the chaos warring in my mind.

His thumb slid over my cheek, brushing away the tears that streaked down my face. “Breathe with me, love. In and out. Just focus on my voice.”

I tried to match my breathing to his, letting the steady cadence of his words wash over me. Slowly, the vise grip around my lungs began to loosen, the static in my head quieting to a dull roar.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You are doing so well. Just keep breathing.”

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, hands clasped around the other as if we could somehow merge through the cell bars through sheer force of will. When Dukovich finally spoke again, his voice was threatening, anger and conviction warping his tone.

“You will make it through this, Ataliia. And when you do, burn this place to the ground and salt the fucking earth.”

As if in defiance of that promise, another scream tore through the prison like a dragon’s, the sound scraping against my already frayed nerves. I flinched, my fingers instinctively tightening around the Dukovich’s.

I recognized the tone of it.

“Landers,” I whispered, realization dawning with sickening clarity. “They’re torturing him, aren’t they?”

Dukovich was silent for a long moment, the weight of his hesitation confirming my fears. “Yes,” he finally said, his voice rough. “I believe so.”

“How long?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “How long have they had him?”

His jaw clenched at the question, the muscles flexing beneath skin. “Hours, I think. It is hard to tell with no light. They dragged him out not long after they brought us here. His cell is on the other side of you.”

I closed my eyes, blocking out the images that flooded my mind. I inhaled a shaky breath, my stomach churning at the thought of what they must be doing to him. The knowledge that Dukovich and I were next.

“Are we still in Ammord?”

I felt the nod of Dukovich’s head in response and a shiver skidded down my spine.

I would rather be back in the fucking pit.

Dark tales of horrors that transpired within these walls had always been whispered about. The sadistic stories of the leaders and armies were written all throughoutThe Stories. The lore said Ammord was the pathway to hell, and from the feel of the black magic and witchcraft that saturated the air and pricked at my skin, I almost believed it.

Ammord did not torture using physical pain. No, they used something much worse against you.

Your own mind.

I had spent all these months learning how to shift, focusing on nothing else just so I could be out of my body—to escape the pain I felt trapped in my own fucking skin. All this time and that was the least useful of all my magic in situations like this. I should have been honing everything else. The mind was a witch’s strength, and I had neglected it.

The last time I used my mental and emotional manipulation was in Ammord, when I killed those guards to get Nox free. But my emotions weren’t heightened then like they were now. My head and mind had been clear, the magic didn’t need to sift through my own emotion before finding theirs.

But maybe . . . maybe I could use it on myself. Use it to control my own emotions, to calm me so I could get into the minds of anyone trying to harm us.

Another scream seeped through the cracks into our cells and I pressed myself closer to the bars as if I could reach through them and hold Landers. To tell him he would be okay—that we would be okay. A flicker of anger sparked in my chest at the sound of his suffering, chasing away the tendrils of fear coiling inside me.