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Some prisons are physical, others psychological. What if you’re trapped in both?
Locked in a cement box, Donovan’s sadistic father held the key, but Donovan inflicted far worse damage. I knew better than to trust him but fought my instincts, riding on the fantasy of our connection and how deeply our Soul Magic ran. Why was loyalty too much to expect? I didn’t deserve this and can’t fathom how to live with it.
All factions had grand plans, derailing my own as I rot in this cell. Some vowed to lock the Creation up tight forever with Caine and the survivors inside, others wanted to blast it wide open to save all they could, and a diabolical few planned to capitalize on the chaos releasing my evil ancestor would inflict on Magics and the Blind. No matter the outcome, a civil war is imminent.
After everything I went through in the Sorrel Compound cells, Fate had more in store, and conspired to take away all my sense of control. Could I get it back? Was I strong enough?
Will my life ever be mine again?