His voice came out hoarse. Dry. Exhausted.
But still unmistakably him.
My eyes burned immediately.
I almost laughed. Almost cried.
Instead, my hands tightened desperately around the iron bars.
"You idiot…" I whispered shakily. "Why weren't you answering me?"
A long silence followed.
Then finally—
"I was sleeping."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"You looked dead!"
"That would've been quieter."
Despite everything— despite the blood, the chains, the horrifying condition he was in—
he still sounded unbearable.
Something in my chest twisted painfully.
Draven shifted slightly again, and I immediately noticed the way his body tensed afterward.
Pain.
Real pain.
Even breathing looked difficult.
The realization made guilt crawl violently through me again.
My gaze dropped toward the wounds covering his body. The deep sword slashes. The bruises darkening across his ribs. The dried blood still staining parts of his skin.
My throat tightened hard.
"This is my fault."
