Chapter 19 · Sela's Wild Card

"Don't even think about it," Sela snapped, her boot heel grinding into the small of Cain's back.

He was pinned face-down against the cold stone of the dungeon floor. The iron shackles bit into his wrists, but that was nothing compared to the pressure of her weight. Sela didn't just stand on him; she leaned in, her voice a dangerous silk thread right against his ear.

"You're a dead man who forgot to stay buried," she whispered. "Now, tell me why you aren't a pile of ash. Who gave you that marrow?"

Cain let out a jagged laugh, his cheek pressed against the grit. "Maybe I just like the view from down here, General. You've got a real... commanding presence."

Sela shifted her weight, her boot sliding up to press firmly into the back of his neck, forcing his head down. "I don't do jokes, and I don't do mysteries. You were stripped. Your kin tore the Heavenly Marrow out of you like a weed. By all laws of nature, you should be a husk. Yet here you are, smelling like a slaughterhouse and breathing like a predator."

Cain gritted his teeth. The Devouring Bone inside him was humming—