Cale slumped against the damp wall of his prison cell, his body aching, his muscles heavy with exhaustion. The cold stone pressed into his back, the only thing keeping him from colpsing entirely. Bruises painted his skin, and his breaths came shallow, exhaustion clearly heard.

  Sleep tugged at him, a relentless tide threatening to pull him under. But he resisted, biting the inside of his cheek, digging his nails into his palms—anything to stay awake. To sleep here, in this pce, was to surrender to vulnerability. "I can’t sleep," he muttered, the words a ragged whisper. He repeated them like a mantra, as if the sound of his own voice could ward off the creeping darkness behind his eyelids.

  The cell offered no comfort. Rough stone walls wept with condensation, the air thick with the sour tang of mildew and unwashed bodies. The floor was uneven, littered with grime and the occasional scurrying of unseen vermin. Cale sat hunched in the corner, his knees drawn up, his gaze darting between the shadows.

  Yet, despite his efforts, exhaustion was a foe he could not outst. His head lolled forward, his body sagging, and before he could fight it any longer, he slipped into unconsciousness—not with a dramatic fade, but with the quiet, inevitable surrender.

  Previous to this, Cale had been caught up in a furious battle along with his companions, and he had not been able to get a proper night's worth of rest since.

  And it seemed like tiredness had finally caught up to him.

  …

  In the prison, the dim light of the lit torches filtered through the rusted bars, slightly shining on his face as he y on the ground sound asleep. Normally, he would have jolted upright, senses sharp, every instinct screaming at him to be ready. But after yesterday’s strange realization—that no one here seemed to care about his presence—his guard had dulled.

  Time crawled. His eyelids grew heavy again, and though he knew sleeping in an unfamiliar pce was dangerous, he found himself drifting once more. No attacks came. No threats. The other prisoners barely gnced his way, their hollow eyes fixed on nothing.

  When he woke next, Cale leaned back against the wall, stretching his arms, his mind wandering to the events that had led him here. The battle. The mistake. That one reckless decision—his companion’s foolish charge into the enemy’s fnk, breaking their formation, leaving them exposed. His jaw tightened. That dumb bitch. The memory stung, frustration simmering beneath his skin. Where were they now? Alive? Captured? Dead?

  Hours passed by, marked only by the occasional cough or groan from the other prisoners. Then—footsteps were heard. Cale’s head lifted, his ears straining. The other inmates remained indifferent, their disinterest almost eerie.

  He exhaled, slumping back. Boredom had long since repced fear. When he’d first been thrown in here, his mind had raced with strategies, escape pns, ways to defend himself if the others turned on him.

  That was what he expected, but nothing had happened. All he received were just the occasional gnces filled with a flicker of curiosity, before their gazes slid away.