The jailer hesitated.
Dorian's gaze turned venomous, dark as a coiled serpent.
"If she does not die, I will not rest in peace," he hissed. "I care not how you do it, nor whom you hire—just kill her. She can't be left alive if I pass on."
The jailer faltered only a moment, then nodded and withdrew.
Leaning back against the cold stone wall, Dorian lifted his eyes to the narrow strip of darkness above and let out a twisted smile.
Caelith… you wish to walk out alive? I will see that you never leave me.
***
The following day, a madwoman was thrown into the cell beside Caelith.
Her hair hung wild and tangled, her clothes in tatters. She muttered endlessly under her breath, her words incoherent. When the guards shoved her inside, she clung to the bars and let out a strange, hollow laugh in Caelith's direction.
Caelith paid her little mind.
In such a place, madness was nothing unusual.
Deep into the night, the prison fell into uneasy silence.
The madwoman's muttering ceased.
