6. Katya

I step into the dimly lit cell, the cold stone walls making it feel more like a tomb than a prison. The scent of damp air and blood hits me immediately, and I pause at the threshold, my stomach twisting.

I shouldn’t be here. I know that. But I need to face him. I need to tell him the verdict and make this right.

But as soon as I see him, hanging there by his wrists, half-dead, my breath catches in my throat. He’s broken. His silver hair, matted and tangled, clings to his sweat-slick skin, and his bare chest is covered in fresh and old scars. His wrists are raw, the silver chains biting deep into his flesh, burning him.

There’s blood, so much blood, but that’s not what hits me hardest. It’s the look on his face, the way he’s staring at me with a distant, haunted expression, his eyes glassy, lost in some memory I can’t reach.

For a moment, I hesitate. I was prepared for anger, for defiance, for that cold indifference he always wears like armour. But this… this is something else. He lo