Lucian’s POV
Roman rejoined us, his fists clenched, his gaze burning with rage as if blaming us for forcing him to do this. It was brutal to leave her there like this. If he could, he would have kicked every one of us right then—and we would have accepted it gladly. We could only offer him apologetic gazes.
By the time her screams for freedom finally died down, only light sobs remained. Her tear-streaked face pressed against the bars as she slid down, collapsing to her knees in helpless surrender, mumbling weakly for someone to free her.
He turned away, standing apart from us, his rigid posture radiating fury.
Her screams for freedom and the desperate rattling of the door went on until they slowly died into faint sobs. What remained was the broken sight of her tear-streaked face pressed against the cold iron bars as she slid down, collapsing to her knees in helpless surrender, whispering weak pleas for someone—anyone—to free her.
Her sobs lingered for a while, then faltered into silence. Warily, she lifted her head, her body trembling, fear etched deep in her gaze. As her eyes scanned the room in that dreadful stillness, her expression turned ashen.
She staggered upright, her legs unsteady beneath her, her glassy eyes darting, searching for any possible escape.
Then her gaze fell upon the objects within the cell: the rickety table bolted to the wall, the chains dangling from the stones with rusted cuffs that once bound prisoners, and the single light swaying faintly from the ceiling, its dim glow unable to chase away the shadows that clung like phantoms to every corner.
The moment her eyes landed on the table, she recoiled in terror and stumbled back, crashing to the ground once more. She pressed against the wall behind her, curling into herself, her hands clutching her ears as if to block out the voices rising in her mind.
In that video we had witnessed how they used this very table and those chains to confine her and torture her. The horror was real. Those bastards, if I could, I would have pulled them back from the hell and kill them all over again with the most gruesome death that before.
"No... stay away... don’t come closer..." she whimpered through her sobs, trying to bury herself in the darkness along the wall. Her cries echoed mercilessly against the stone, as though she were reliving every torment she had once endured.
Her limbs thrashed violently, her hands and feet kicking the empty air, as if fighting off unseen assailants. "Stay away... don’t touch me... please don’t... it hurts..."
"That’s enough," I muttered and started forward, but Isla’s sharp voice stopped me. "Be patient. We’ve already brought her this far. Just wait a little longer."
I clenched my jaw, my eyes flicking to Kael. He stood motionless, rooted in place, his gaze fixed on the screen. The veins along temple, his neck pulsed visibly, his fists clenched tight, every muscle straining as though he were holding himself back from shattering the door and tearing her free.
"Kael," I called to him.
"Listen to Isla," Kael said, his voice so restrained it seemed the words barely escaped his lips.
Meanwhile, Eira’s struggle inside the cell grew wilder, her body thrashing as she fought against the horrors only she could see. Her screams clawed through the air, cutting into me until I could hardly breathe.
I slammed my fist against the wall behind me, fury and helplessness surging through my veins. I could not defy Kael’s order. Every cry from her pierced my chest like a blade.
"It’s too much now," Jason snapped, his eyes burning with anger as he glared at Isla. "Are you trying to traumatize her all over again? Is this your way of treatment?"
"I’m getting her out," Roman growled, his voice shaking with rage as he looked at Kael. "We’re done here."
"Don’t ruin it now," Isla shot back, her tone taut with strain. "Do you think I’m enjoying this? This is the only way to force her to release that buried agony. After this, she’ll speak about it instead of locking it away and letting it eat her alive. Just be patient—"
"To hell with your patience!"
The furious voice cut across her words. We all turned, but the source of it had already vanished.
Rafe.
Our eyes darted to the screen. He was already inside the cell, the heavy door swinging open as he strode toward the screaming, broken girl huddled against the wall.
I tensed, ready to follow, but Isla’s sharp words stopped me. "If you all go rushing in, you’ll terrify her more. Let him handle her. He’s already there."
Out of all of us, it was Rafe—the one who despised her scent, the one whose place had always been at Kael’s side, obeying like a shadow—who went to her. For the first time, he broke his own protocol.
And he did it for her.
He went straight to her. "Eira," he called softly.
But she only recoiled in terror, her screams rising louder, her mind slipping entirely into the past, blind to the present.
"Please... don’t hurt me... I’ll be good... please..." she whimpered, sinking into the corner where two walls met, as if she could bury herself in stone to escape.
Rafe did not stop. He lowered himself to the ground and pulled her into his arms. She thrashed violently, clawing at him with desperate scratches, her legs kicking, her voice raw with panic.
"Let me go... please..." she cried, before breaking into another torrent of wailing sobs.
"Shhh," Rafe murmured into her ear, his voice low and steady, as though calming a frightened child. He held her firmly, refusing to let go, pressing her trembling face against his shoulder.
Her body continued to struggle in his grasp, her fear pushing her to fight like a wild creature cornered. With sudden ferocity, she sank her teeth into his shoulder, biting down with all her strength. Blood welled instantly, seeping through his grey T-shirt, staining it crimson.
Still, Rafe did not move. He stayed utterly still, enduring her pain without resistance, his only answer the constant whisper of his shushing.
The cell fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the ragged sound of her breathing as she clung to him with her teeth sank in his flesh.