Chapter 10 · Shadow's Judgment

"Get up, Sloane. You're making the human think you're weak."

The voice didn't sound human. It sounded like grinding stones—cold, dead, and devoid of a soul.

Sloane snapped from her knees to a rigid stand, boots clicking against the stone. But her eyes—predatory and sharp—weren't on the masked figure. They flicked to me, wide with terror and a silent, desperate warning.

I couldn't move. The air had turned to lead. Every breath felt like inhaling wet concrete.

"Who is this?" The masked figure stepped closer. His heels echoed in the silence. He stopped inches from me, smelling of old parchment and dried blood. "A shrink? You brought a mind-healer into the Eternal Night?"

"He's... an asset, My Lord," Sloane stammered. Her voice, usually a blade, was a trembling wire. "He stabilized Grom. The Troll King is no longer a liability."

"Stabilized," the figure repeated. He tilted his head, the bone mask shifting. "Interesting. I've spent three centuries trying to break that idiot's spirit. You're telling me a soft-handed human fixed him with words?"

He reached out. A gloved finger hooked under my chin, forcing me up. The leather was freezing, smelling of chemicals.