Cedric
The dungeon was exactly what the word suggested.
Cold stone walls. A narrow cot against one side. A single barred window set too high up to see anything useful through except a thin strip of pale morning sky. The kind of room that had been built for exactly this purpose and had never pretended otherwise.
I sat on the edge of the cot in my sweatpants and stared at the opposite wall.
They had taken my phone at the door. One of the guards had held out his hand with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this before, and I had handed it over without argument because arguing would have changed nothing, and I had already used up everything I had to say upstairs in that apartment bedroom.
The cell was quiet except for the distant sound of the palace operating above and aroun
