Chapter 34 · The Inquisitor's Ace

"Get your filthy hands off her!"

Silas didn't sound human. It was a raw, guttural roar that ripped through the pit. He lunged from the rubble, cloak shredded, blood painting a jagged streak down his face. He didn't just move—he collided, slamming his shoulder into Caine’s chest with enough force to crack the stone floor.

Caine didn't even flinch. He just smirked, eyes glowing with that sickening void-purple light. He caught Silas’s wrist in a grip that sounded like grinding bone.

"Still playing the hero, Silas?" Caine chuckled. The sound vibrated in his chest like a dying animal. "Pathetic. Look at you. Bleeding. Broken. And for what? A girl who’d step over your corpse for a level-up?"

I scrambled backward, boots slipping on loose shale. My breath came in jagged hitches. The air tasted like ozone and old blood. I looked at Silas—really looked at him. Shield gone. Composure gone. For the first time, the arrogant bastard looked desperate.

"Shut up," Silas spat, straining against the grip. Veins bulged in his neck. "Let her go, Caine. Now."

"Or what?" Caine leaned in, face inches from Silas’s. "Throw another shield? I already ate that one. I'm still hungry.