Benson's POV
The first thing I noticed upon waking was the cold. It crept into my bones, seeping through every fiber of my being until I could barely feel my hands and feet. My mouth was dry, and my head throbbed with a dull ache that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I squinted against the harsh, artificial light as my vision adjusted. I was in a narrow, metal cell lined with grime-covered bars that cast thin, jagged shadows across the stone floor.
Warehouse Fourteen.
The words echoed in my mind with a kind of grim finality. This wasn’t just another one of my father’s punishments. No, he’d sent me here to disappear, to fade into the background and be forgotten. The warehouse was notorious even in whispers—the place where disobedient fae and pixies were sent to “work.” But the rumors he
