The iron bars might as well have been the ribs of a coffin.
And yet… somewhere in the pit of his chest, behind the grief and the rage, something coiled and waited.
This wasn’t the end.
It couldn’t be.
Not for Lord Peter Nightshade.
--
The silence was deafening.
For hours, Peter sat in the half-dark of his cell, the faint torchlight flickering against the slick stone walls. There was no sound of footsteps coming for him, no whispered plans, no bribed guard slipping him a key.
And that silence told him everything.
They had abandoned him.
The rats had fled the sinking ship, and for the first time in decades, Lord Peter Nightshade had no cards left to play.
No allies.
No influence.
No future.
Except…
A slow, dangerous smile crept over his lips as his mind circled back to the one
