Thomas didn’t take Luca back to the war table.
He took him down.
The stairwell spiraled beneath the stronghold, stone worn smooth by centuries of boots and blood. Torches hissed as they passed, the air growing colder, heavier. The smell hit first—iron, sweat, rot.
“The dungeons,” Thomas said lightly. “Where theory meets reality.”
Chains rattled somewhere ahead.
They stopped before a cell reinforced with iron bars and ward-sigils etched deep into the stone. Inside, a wolf hung suspended by his wrists, silver restraints biting into his flesh. His head was bowed, hair matted with blood. His breathing came in ragged pulls.
“Trespasser,” Thomas said. “Caught three nights ago.”
He glanced sideways at Luca. “Ever tortured anyone, body-first?”
Luca didn’t flinch. “Only my parents, Alpha Th
