The air inside the warehouse was clean, carrying the faint smell of polished wood, leather, and dried herbs from the crates stacked in careful rows. Lanterns glowed warmly from their hooks, lighting the wide aisles between shipments. This was no abandoned ruin—it was an active hub, organized and alive. The echo of Shin’s boots was swallowed by the steady hum of a place still in use.
Along the far wall, doors lined a narrow hallway, leading to rooms—where the children were, others for storage or rest. It was in this very place, among goods and secrets, that Shin’s eyes finally found Reinhart.
His heart clenched painfully at the sight.
Reinhart, hung, bloodied and bruised, chained to a steel frame. His head drooped forward, his shirt soaked through with dark stains. Shin’s stomach twisted
