A Glimpse of Gold

Desmond sat in his usual position, seated on the floor, his back against the cold stonewall of the cell. His arms were folded over his knees, and he rested his head on one of them, the dim light casting faint shadows across the room. It was a small comfort to him as the darkness was no longer as suffocating as it once was, courtesy of what he could only assume was the intervention of his mate.

Though he still lacked the “luxuries” of the other cells, such as a bed or amenities, Desmond was no longer shackled like an animal. Instead, he had been granted small reprieves—a daily meal, the absence of chains—that served as a stark reminder of his newfound, albeit uncertain, freedom. Despite the lingering grime and tattered clothing, he felt a glimmer of strength returning to him, his body slowly healing from the wounds inflicted during his captivity. The scars would remain, a testament to his endurance and resilience in the face of adversity, but they no longer bore the weight of despair