Page 141 of Bound By Darkness

The walls seem to lean inward, squeezing the space, tightening with every heartbeat.

We’re not dead.

Not yet.

But we have to look it.

Above us, Aoife’s voice rings out, steady and sure, slicing through the pit’s heavy silence.

She’s selling the lie.

Selling our deaths.

Then, her tone shifts.A name slips from her lips—Ronan.

I go still.I know that name.Ruairi’s second-in-command.A man too ambitious for his own good.I hear the shift in her voice.Her careful control falters, just for a second.That’s enough to tell me that this isn’t going according to plan.

Ruairi shifts beside me, the sound of his breathing rough and broken, scraping against the pit’s heavy silence.He’s too weak to stay still, his body hollowed out from weeks of damp stone and darkness wearing him down.

I turn my head, the movement stiff and strained.Ruairi’s face is tight, his eyes wide and unfocused, staring into the dark.But I see it—the moment understanding slams into him.

It isn’t just Cian.It’s Ronan, too.His right hand.The man he trusted to hold the line in his absence.Betrayal cuts through him like a blade, sharp and merciless.

He doesn't speak.He doesn’t have to.I feel it in the way the air sours between us.

I don’t have time to process it.The world above us fractures in an instant as a gunshot rips through the silence.Aoife’s scream follows—raw, jagged, real enough to tear me open.

I go rigid, panic flooding every inch of me.

I can’t see her.

I can’t see anything.

Ruairi grits his teeth and tries to push himself up, but his body crumples, shuddering against the stone.Grabbing Ruairi, I pull him toward the farthest edge of the pit, pressing him against the wall.Every instinct is screaming at me to act, to move, to do something.But the lift isn’t down here.We’re trapped.

"Stay down," I order, my voice low, steady."You’re no good to her like this."

His eyes burn with frustration.He knows I’m right.

Above us, footsteps scrape across the stone, fast, heavy.A grunt.A struggle.Then Aoife’s voice low and lethal.

“I should’ve ended you the second I saw your face.”

A grunt.The dull thud of impact—bodies colliding.

"You fucking bitch."His voice is furious.“I don’t know what O’Leary saw in you.”

"A way to get himself killed, apparently."Her words drip with defiance.

Another scuffle.The scrape of boots.The harsh rustle of fabric.

Ronan’s breath comes faster, strained."You always were a handful."

“I guess you should’ve picked a better hostage,” she snaps back.

His voice dips, smug and taunting."Maybe I should spread those legs and see if you’re really worth all this fucking trouble."

A heartbeat of silence, then a sharp, vicious sound.A grunt of pain.His.

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