But he was still alive.
Barely.
I leaned closer until my lips were near his ear, one hand reaching gently for his slumping shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’m here. I’m going to get you out of here. I’ve got you.”
For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t react.
Then his eyes rolled slowly toward mine. Unfocused. Glazed. But the smallest breath escaped his lips, and I heard it—
A whisper, cracked and soft:
“You… she sent you?”
“She did,” I said, voice steady. “Katherine sent me. You’re going home.”
His eyes filled. Not with tears—there were none left in him—but with something older. Recognition. Not of me. Of her. Of her voice carried in mine.
I moved to the chains.
That’s when I realized how bad it really was.
I couldn’t tell where his skin ended and the chains began. The me
