A video feed began to buffer on the screen.

It showed a dimly lit room with concrete walls.

A chair sat in the center under a single lightbulb.

The camera panned, revealing a man standing near the doorway.

It was Adrian.

His coat was torn, and there was a dark bruise forming along his jawline.

Two armed guards stood behind him, their hands on their holsters.

He was looking directly into the camera lens, his gray eyes burning with cold rage.

My heart stopped.

“Adrian,” I whispered, though he couldn’t hear me.

Camille tapped the screen, opening a two-way audio connection.

“Look who is watching, Adrian,” she said into the microphone.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed as my face appeared on his screen.

“Maya,” he said, his voice raw.

“I am here, Adrian,” I called out, before the guard beside me shoved a heavy hand over my mouth.

“Quiet,” the guard growled.

On the screen, Salvatore stepped into the frame, holding a second phone to his ear.

The old man looked frail but carried an aura of absolute authority.

He looked at Adrian, then down at the phone.