Pack members stare as I fill a bucket with water. Iron chains loop around my ankles, as if I am some dangerous captive. The Luna clearly means to humiliate me, but I feel nothing. I have long grown used to this kind of treatment. A group of young children linger in the corner, snickering and mocking me as kids often do. I turn toward them and let my fangs show, letting out a low growl. They shriek and dart away in fright.

A small sense of satisfaction settles over me. Those brats will grow up to be just as cruel as their parents.

I keep working to fill the bucket, feeling a little more like myself now. I had been able to bathe at the pack infirmary, and Lauren brought me fresh clothes: well-worn denim overalls, sneakers, and a bright striped shirt underneath. I have my thick curls tied back in a ponytail to keep my hair out of the way while I clean.

Once the bucket is full, I lift it and head back down to the dungeon. The guard stays posted at the top of the stairs and does not follow. I grab the lantern hanging on the wall and carry it down with me, hanging it up inside the cell block to cast warm light across the room. The prisoners are still covered in grime.

"Finally. Now we can all see each other’s ugly mugs," Dash remarks.

"Shut it, jerk," Quinn growls.

Dash chuckles, then his gaze flicks to me. "Except you, Curls. You definitely don’t fall into the ugly category."

I choose to ignore him. He has been nothing but playful and flirty since we met, and I am starting to realize this is just his usual personality — he acts this way with everyone.

I am not accustomed to receiving attention from men, so his friendliness did stir a little excitement in me at first. He is warm and genuine, not sleazy or pushy. Still, I have regained my composure. I cannot let myself get carried away by simple kindness.

I lift the bucket and pour the water across the stone floor, letting it flow toward the far end of the cell block. Then I pick up a broom and begin scrubbing the surface clean.

"So this is your punishment, huh?" Dash asks.

"Yeah. It’s not all that bad."

"She speaks! I knew you liked hanging around us."

I roll my eyes.

"Come on, Curls. Admit it. You enjoy our company."

"My name is Cass. And I’m not fooling myself. I know all of you are dangerous. But the bars separate us, so there’s no harm in being polite."

"Smart girl," Quinn mutters.

"Nah, you just like us," Dash insists. "And what was that about Cass?"

"That’s my name," I reply.

"Cass?" The green-eyed man speaks softly, catching me off guard. He tilts his head slightly, but when I meet his gaze, his expression hardens back into its usual stoic look. "Is it short for something?"

I pause mid-scrub and stare at him, then give a slow nod.

"Cassiopeia," I say.

He closes his eyes briefly and nods. "I see."

"That’s an interesting name," Dash comments.

"Ugly, you mean," I mumble.

"I didn’t say that."

"You were thinking it," I whisper to myself, then shift to a new topic that has been weighing on my mind. "Anyway, why are all of you so calm?"

"Huh?" Dash feigns confusion.

"You’re locked in cells. Your lives could end at any moment. None of you seem the least bit worried."

"Oh no, we’re trapped," Dash says in a mocking, dramatic tone.

I narrow my eyes at him. "See? You’re just messing around."

He laughs. "We’ve endured worse. Don’t worry about us, Curls. If we die, we die. There’s no one left to grieve for any of us."

Sympathy tugs at my heart. It seems their own pack treats them poorly too. I should not be surprised, not with the Dark Fang Pack’s reputation.

Are we all just pawns for cruel leaders?

I stop working abruptly, gripping the broom tightly as a sharp pain flares in my chest.

Damn Ezra.

I scream the name silently in my head.

I squeeze the broom handle harder, scrubbing the floor fiercely every time another wave of agony hits.

"You alright over there, Curls? You look like you’re about to cry," Dash says.

"I’m fine!" I snap.

"Whoa… okay."

"I’m sorry," I murmur quietly.

The green-eyed man watches me, his expression unreadable. I cannot tell what he is thinking, and his intense stare sends a shiver down my spine — though it is not entirely an unpleasant feeling. After what feels like forever, the pain fades away. Weary but determined, I get back to work.

I focus hard on scrubbing the floor until I notice the room has gone quiet, filled only with quiet whispers. I glance over and see all the men huddled together at the cell bars, talking among themselves.

"You sure about this?" Quinn whispers.

The green-eyed man nods. "I’m sure."

"So that means —"

"No. We wait," the green-eyed man cuts him off in a low voice.

"Why hold back?"

"What are you all doing?" I ask, interrupting their conversation.

"We were deciding who gets to make the first move on you," Dash teases.

"What?!"

"You idiot. You sound like a creep," the man beside Quinn, Peter, scolds him.

Dash shakes his head frantically. "No, that’s not what I meant at all!"

I squint at them in disapproval.

"You’re all disgusting," I huff.

Dash waves his hands in a panic. "Truly, that’s not it! Curls, you have to believe me. I’m a decent guy, I promise."

"You!" A sudden shout from behind me makes me jump.

I turn to find four guards standing in the hallway.

"Move aside," one orders. I step out of their way as they march forward and stop in front of Dash’s cell and the green-eyed man’s cell.

"You. Out." They unlock the cell, grab the green-eyed man by the arm, and yank him to his feet. I quickly look away as his body is exposed.

He offers no resistance and follows them silently. Unease and fear twist in my stomach as I watch him being led away.

"Damn it," Dash mutters. For the first time since I met them, he looks genuinely concerned.

"Will he… be alright?" I ask quietly.

Dash’s expression shifts back into a casual smile. "He’ll be fine. That man can withstand anything."

"You two have known each other a long time?" I ask, going back to my cleaning.

"Very long indeed."

Curiosity gnaws at me, but I hold back further questions. I do not want them to think I was sent here to spy.

As the day goes on, I am told to head up to the kitchen and fetch meals for the prisoners. Matilda hands me stacked food trays. She glances at the shackles around my ankles with clear disapproval, but she knows better than to speak out.

I cut across the fields on my way back to the dungeon, and Ezra walks straight toward me. He freezes the second he spots me.

"Where have you been all this time?" he demands.

I glare at him. "What do you mean?" I glance down at my ankles, knowing the chains are plainly visible.

He follows my gaze. "They’re still keeping you locked in the dungeon?"

"Yep," I reply flatly and start walking onward, making no effort to hide my disdain for him.

A fated mate bond is supposed to be something sacred — a deep soul connection no one else can understand. You crave each other, heart and soul. I cannot lie; in the beginning, I did feel that pull toward him. Even when I hated and resented him for his cruelty over the years, the bond stirred longing inside me. But not anymore. I despise him now. No one can inflict endless pain on another person without turning their affection into numbness and revulsion. I know he will never be the gentle, caring mate I once hoped for. The hurt he has caused will always linger, no matter if he ever tries to change.

"If you beg for mercy, I could talk to Mother and get you released," he says.

I stare at him in confusion. "What? Why would you do that? …Never mind, thanks anyway."

"Are you being serious?"

"Yeah." I try to keep walking.

"But —"

His offer catches me off guard. I turn back to him, still confused. "But what?"

"I just thought now that I’m home, I’d get to see more of you… to torment you some more." A wicked grin tugs at his lips.

"You already do plenty of that, even when you’re far away. No thanks. I’d rather stay in the dungeon." I turn fully to face him. "Or you could just reject me."

"No," he answers instantly.

I am not surprised in the slightest. I spin around and hurry toward the cells. Once I arrive, I begin passing out the food trays.

"Thanks, Curls," Dash says.

"Hey, where’s the rogue who was in the cell alone?" I ask, noticing his space is empty.

"They came for him a little while ago."

"I don’t think he’s coming back," Quinn says.

"Why do you say that?"

"He told us himself. He’d been trapped here for ages. They probably don’t have any use for him anymore."

I am not certain if that is true, so I leave his meal on the empty cell’s shelf just in case. I set the green-eyed man’s tray on a small table outside the cells, then head to my own cell to eat. Unlike the others, I am not locked up. The guards know I have nowhere to run.

Before long, we hear the guards descending the stairs again. The green-eyed man is not with them. They stop in front of my cell and unlock the door.

"Come with us."

What now?

"By order of the Luna, you are to come immediately."

I take a deep breath and follow them out of the dungeon. To my surprise, they lead me past the cell block and into the surrounding woods. A short walk later, we stop in front of a reinforced bunker.

I know exactly what this place is. When we were children, we were all warned never to come near it. This is the interrogation chamber.

The guards push open the door, and a putrid stench floods out, making my stomach churn.