Flash back
The basement of the North Wing—the place we called 'The Cold Room'—never saw the sun. It didn't matter what time of day it was; down there, it was always midnight.
After i left Chloe two hours ago, I stood in that damp, concrete silence, watching Jupiter and Marcus work. The man we had snatched from the hospital perimeter was strapped to a steel chair, his face a map of broken skin and desperate defiance. Marcus and Jupiter were methodical, using the kind of pressure that made grown men weep for their mothers. I watched from the shadows, my bandaged hand throbbing in rhythm with the prisoner's ragged breathing.
Marcus leaned in, his voice a low, terrifying whisper. "Who sent you?"
The man spat blood onto the floor, a jagged grin stretching across his swollen lips. "The King is dead," he wheezed. "You're just a ghost sitting on a throne of glass, Reed. He's coming for the boy."
