Victor winced, his eyes wide with fear.

“Easy, Bishop,” I murmured.

I reached out and laid my hand on the dog’s scarred shoulder.

Under my touch, the tension in Bishop’s massive muscles seemed to ease slightly.

The growl subsided into a low, steady hum.

He did not let go, but he stopped crushing the bone.

It was the rare, quiet influence I had always possessed over animals.

They understood my voice when humans chose not to.

The heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs creaked open.

Slow, deliberate footsteps began to descend into the damp cellar.

The smell of expensive cologne and wet wool drifted down before the man did.

Lucian Draven stepped into the dim light of the single bulb.

His long, dark coat was dotted with raindrops.

His eyes swept over the scene, taking in the dog, the pinned man, and the notebook in my hand.

His expression did not change, but his jaw tightened.

“I saw the files Alina uploaded,” Lucian said.

His voice was dangerously quiet, like the calm before a storm.

He walked over to Victor and looked down at him.