Pain was the first thing to register.

A deep, throbbing ache radiated from the base of Seraphina’s skull, pulsing behind her eyes with the relentless rhythm of a war drum. She groaned, the sound harsh and ragged in her dry throat.

The second sensation was the cold. It seeped through the thin fab

"Fifteen million?" Seraphina's voice sliced through the damp, subterranean air, devoid of the panic her former lieutenants were undoubtedly expecting. She stood at the end of her iron tether, her wrists chafed by the heavy manacles, but her posture remained as impossibly straight as it was behind he

Seraphina didn't lower the bloody karambit. She didn't wipe the sweat from her eyes or the blood from her collarbone. She stood rooted to the concrete, her chest heaving, her gaze locked on the dark silhouette illuminated by the harsh white spotlight above.

The silhouette didn't move. It simply st