The cold, damp cell where Devon was held barely fazed him. Margaret stood before the small barred window, glaring at the boy. She expected tears or fear, but instead, Devon’s eyes, sharp and detached, held a dangerous calm. His bound hands rested on his lap as if he were simply waiting.
Margaret paced impatiently. “Do you know why you’re here, boy?”
Devon didn’t respond, his cold, piercing gaze fixed on her, his aura one of eerie confidence. It was as if the innocent child she had captured was no longer present, replaced by something darker and far more unsettling.
Margaret scoffed, growing frustrated with his silence. “Your mother will come for you. And when she does, she’ll give me what I want - the immortality formula, Eamon Cliff… all of it. And then I’ll kill you in front of her be
