Noah had lost all sense of time. Hours bled into each other until he couldn’t tell night from day. The only measure of his captivity was the sound of the lock turning or the echo of heavy boots walking past his door.
Sometimes, a helper came in—a masked man who said nothing. He washed Noah with cold water, scrubbed the filth away, and then left him undressed again. Each time, Noah felt stripped not just of his clothes but of his dignity. He no longer had tears to shed. His body trembled, his spirit fought, but the shadow of disgust clung to him like a second skin.
Every breath he took carried the memory of those lips, those hands, that monster. The marks on his skin felt branded, as if Alistair had carved his presence into him. Noah shuddered whenever he remembered, and yet he clung to o
