The silence in the chamber had become familiar.
Not comforting. Never comforting.
But predictable.
For days—maybe weeks, though Ember had lost track of the exact number—the stone room had been her world. A chamber carved deep beneath the earth, lit by low-burning lanterns that gave off a steady amber glow. There were no windows, no visible exits except the heavy iron door that opened only when someone from the dark faction entered.
Yet it was no longer a prison.
Not exactly.
They had been careful about that.
The first days had been agony—rage, grief, confusion crashing through her like storm waves. But slowly, methodically, they had reshaped the way she understood everything.
They had given her quiet.
Given her space.
Given her someone to talk to.
The man who visited most often
