Chapter 43 Baiting The Prisoner

• Malcolm’s POV
• I walked up to the dungeons early in the morning, my boots echoing against the stone corridor. The air was damp and heavy, the faint stench of blood and rust clinging to the bars. The guards straightened when they saw me. “Open it,” I ordered, and without hesitation, they obeyed.
• The prisoner lifted his head weakly when I stepped inside. He was still bruised from yesterday—Thomas had made sure of that. His left cheek was grotesquely swollen, his lip split and dried blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. He looked more like a pile of broken bones than a threat, but I knew better. Sometimes the weakest-looking enemies carried the deadliest truths.