The cold cell wall pressed against my back as I sat in darkness, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Three days had passed since Lucas Dillon had locked me in this hellhole. My onlypany was the asional rat scurrying across the floor and the distant screams of other prisoners.


    "Isabelle," I whispered her name like a prayer. "I''ll get back to you. I swear it."


    The sound of approaching footsteps broke my reverie. Keys jangled outside my cell door before it swung open, flooding the small space with harsh light.


    "Up, Knight," barked a guard I didn''t recognize. "You''ve got visitors."


    Visitors? Hope and suspicion warred in my chest as I was roughly yanked to my feet and shackled. Who would be allowed to see me in this secret prison?


    The guard marched me down a long corridor lined with identical metal doors. Each one, I knew, held someone like me—someone who had crossed the wrong people.


    We entered a sparse room containing only a metal table and three chairs. The guard shoved me into one and secured my chains to a ring bolted to the floor.


    "Don''t try anything stupid," he warned before stepping outside.


    Minutester, the door opened again. My jaw clenched as Uncle Armando of the Thornton family strolled in, followed by the heavyset prison administrator, Gage Mcbride.


    "Well, well," Armando sneered, circling me like a vulture. "The great Liam Knight, reduced to this. How fitting."


    I remained silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.


    Armando leaned in close, his expensive cologne unable to mask the stench of corruption. "Conrad sends his regards. He wanted me to check how you''re enjoying your amodations."


    "Tell Conrad he''s wee to visit himself," I replied evenly. "If he ever finds the courage."


    A sh of anger crossed Armando''s face before he regained hisposure. "Brave words from a man in chains. But bravery won''t help you now."


    Mcbride stood silently by the door, watching our exchange with cold, calcting eyes.


    "You know," Armando continued, pacing around the table, "this reminds me of a dog we had when I was a child. Vicious thing, always barking, thinking it was powerful." He paused for effect. "Until my father put it down."


    I met his gaze steadily. "Is there a point to this visit beyond poor metaphors?"


    His smile didn''t reach his eyes. "Actually, yes. I came to inform you that while you''re rotting in here, we''ll be paying visits to those you care about."


    My blood ran cold.


    "Your former father-inw, William Sterling, has been quite uncooperativetely. And that charming Pavilion Master—what was her name? Mariana?"


    I fought to keep my face neutral as he continued.


    "Oh, and we mustn''t forget your precious Isabelle Ashworth. Such a beautiful woman." Armando''s eyes gleamed with malice. "Conrad has always admired beautiful things."


    Something snapped inside me. The chains rattled as I lunged forward, my spiritual power surging despite the restraints designed to suppress it. "Touch her and I''ll tear your heart out!"


    Armando stumbled back, startled by the sudden sh of power that emanated from my body. A thin cut appeared on his cheek, blood seeping from where my spiritual energy hadshed out.


    "You—" he sputtered, touching his face in shock. "How did you—"


    "That''s enough," Mcbride stepped forward, his voice hard as steel. "Armando, I think your visit is concluded."


    Armando wiped away the blood, his expression darkening. "This animal needs to be put in his ce. Move him to the public cells where the other dogs can teach him some manners."


    Mcbride nodded slowly. "Perhaps that would be best."


    Armando straightened his jacket, trying to regain his dignity. "Remember this, Knight—no one escapes from here. No one even knows you''re here." He headed for the door, then looked back. "By the time we''re done, no one will remember your name at all."


    After they left, guards dragged me back to my cell. Hourster, they returned to move me as Armando had ordered.


    The public cell block was vast and crowded, filled with the stench of unwashed bodies and despair. At least thirty men upied the space, all wearing the same gray prison garb, all bearing the unmistakable aura of martial artists.


    The guard shoved me in. "Fresh meat, boys," he announced before mming the barred door behind me. <dfn ss="story-note-vis">Find thе trаnslаtiоn оn МV&LЕМРYR.</dfn>


    Dozens of eyes turned to assess me. Some men lounged on bunks stacked three-high along the walls. Others stood in small groups, conversations dying as they took my measure.


    I straightened my shoulders and met their stares, refusing to show weakness.


    "Another one for the collection," someone muttered.


    An old man with a white beard approached me. "New arrival, eh? What''s your crime, son?"


    "Existing," I replied tersely.


    He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Aren''t we all guilty of that? I''m Saul. Been here eight years."


    "Eight years?" I couldn''t hide my shock.


    Saul nodded grimly. "This isn''t a regr prison. This is where they put martial artists they want to forget." He gestured around the room. "Grandmasters, elders, former sect leaders—anyone who became inconvenient to the powerful."


    Looking around, I realized he was right. Despite their disheveled appearance, I could sense the spiritual power emanating from many of the inmates.


    "Don''t bother nning an escape," Saul continued quietly. "The walls are inscribed with suppression formations. Even Martial Saints would struggle to break them."


    Hope drained from me like water through fingers. If these men—many clearly more powerful than me—had been trapped for years, what chance did I have?


    "The tall one by the corner is a former elder of the Crimson me Sect," Saul pointed discreetly. "The twins were assassins for the Harding family. That massive fellow was once bodyguard to the Governor of Eldoria."


    I absorbed this information, trying to understand thendscape of power in this prison.


    Suddenly, amotion broke out on the far side of the cell. Three muscr men surrounded a smaller, frail-looking figure, shoving him roughly.


    "I told you that''s my spot, Greene," growled thergest of the three. "Move your pathetic ass before I break it."


    The victim stumbled, falling to his knees. As his face turned toward me, recognition shed through my mind.


    Eamon Greene. The businessman I''d helped months ago.


    "Please," he pleaded, "I wasn''t trying to—"


    A kick to his ribs cut off his words. The attacker, clearly a Grandmaster despite his imprisonment,ughed cruelly.


    "In here, your family name means nothing. You''re just another weak piece of trash."


    Something stirred inside me—a protective rage I couldn''t suppress. Without conscious thought, I moved across the cell.


    "That''s enough," I said, my voice carrying across the suddenly quiet space.


    The three attackers turned, surprised at the interruption.


    "Mind your own business, new blood," the leader sneered. "Unless you want your first day to be yourst."


    I stood my ground. "I said enough."


    The man abandoned Eamon and squared up to me. "You don''t know who I am, do you?"


    "I don''t care," I replied simply.


    He lunged at me with surprising speed, his fist aimed at my face. To the other inmates, it must have seemed like he simply passed through me—until he crashed to the floor behind where I''d been standing.


    I hadn''t even appeared to move.


    His twopanions attacked simultaneously. This time, I didn''t bother with subtlety. I caught the first man''s wrist, twisting until bones cracked. He howled in pain as I kicked the second attacker''s knee sideways with a sickening pop.


    The leader scrambled to his feet, fear recing arrogance in his eyes.


    "You—" he began.


    I didn''t let him finish. Moving with deadly precision, I swept his legs and drove my elbow into his knee as he fell. The joint shattered, eliciting a scream that echoed through the cell block.


    The entire confrontation had taken less than ten seconds.


    I stood over the three broken men, my voice ice-cold as I addressed the now-silent room. "Anyone else want to test me?"


    No one moved. No one spoke.


    Turning to Eamon Greene, I extended my hand and helped him to his feet. "Are you alright?"


    He stared at me in disbelief. "Liam Knight? Is that really you?"


    I nodded slightly.


    "They said you were a murderer," he whispered. "That you killed innocent people."


    "Do you believe that?" I asked quietly.


    Eamon shook his head. "Never. Not after what you did for my family."


    I looked around at the watching inmates. "I don''t want trouble. But I won''t stand by while the strong prey on the weak. Not even in here."


    Saul approached, eyeing me with new respect. "Those three were Grandmasters, boy. Yet you broke them like twigs."


    I shrugged. "They needed to learn a lesson."


    "And what lesson is that?" came a voice from the back of the cell. A massive man stepped forward, his presencemanding attention.


    I met his gaze steadily. "That even in hell, there are rules."