Benedict's POV
The guards shoved us through the cell door with enough force that my shoulder slammed against the stone frame. Pain shot down my arm, sharp and immediate.
That bastard would answer for that later.
I stumbled forward into the cramped space, my boots sliding on the slick floor. The heavy door crashed shut behind us, metal against metal, the sound echoing through the stone corridors like a death knell. The echo seemed to hang in the air, bouncing off the walls before dissolving into an oppressive silence.
The air in here was all wrong. It reeked of dampness and rust, of stagnant water and places where sunlight never reached. The kind of smell that clung to your clothes and followed you home.
I moved toward the far wall without conscious thought, needing space between myself and those iron bars. When I reached the stone, I pressed my palm flat against its surface. The rock was rough and bitterly cold, cold enough to bite through my skin.
