Semua Bab Rejected Me Once, Never Fool Me Twice: Bab 131 - Bab 133

It had been a week.Seven whole days since my father looked me in the eyes—still bruised and limping—and told me not to go near the dungeon.And for seven days, I listened.Sort of.I hadn’t stepped foot near the east wing. I hadn’t asked the guards for information. I hadn’t whispered his name aloud.But in my mind? He was everywhere.In my dreams.In the shadows.In the tension that coiled tighter each time I passed the hallway that led to the dungeon.Tyron.Every night, I heard him calling for me—not with words, but with that strange pull I couldn’t shake. Like a thread tugging at my ribs, tightening just enough to keep me from forgetting. I tried to fight it, tried to keep myself busy with the aftermath of the attack.The pack was still healing. The scent of burn salve and healing roots filled the halls. Every room echoed with the sounds of recovery—groans, whispered reassurances, bedsheets shifting with restless bodies.Some of the warriors were responding well. Others still teet

I slipped through the hidden gap in the outer corridor, pressing myself flat against the damp stone as I edged past the patrol. Again.The guards were laughably predictable. One glance at the map I stole from my dad’s office tucked beneath stacks of council scrolls and I knew the blind spots, the rotation times, the minute gaps between shifts. It was almost too easy.Almost.I didn’t let myself relax until I reached the heavy iron door at the end of the dungeon hallway. My heart drummed as I placed my palm against the cool rusted metal. “Unlock,” I whispered, the word whispered on my breath like a secret prayer. A faint click echoed in the hallway.The fifteenth time.I’d been coming here for fifteen days straight. Always at night, always unnoticed.He never spoke. Not once. Just sat there, chained up in silence, bruised wrists bleeding wolfsbane into the stone floor while our bond pulled at me like a hook lodged deep in my ribcage.I stepped inside the cold prison chamber, my boots s