Chapter 71

The halls of Raeburn Asylum were suffocating as the scent of antiseptic barely masked the underlying stench of decay. Of damp stone, rusted iron, and something dark and

wrong. The flickering overhead lights cast long, warped shadows across the floor, making the already bleak corridors feel endless. The only sounds were the faint, distant murmurs of the other prisoners—some whispering to themselves, others muttering prayers to gods that had long abandoned them.

And then, there was

him.

He was a shell of the man the world once knew.

They had dressed him in the standard white uniform of the asylum, but it did little to hide the sharp edges of his frame. His once-glowing amber eyes, the same ones that used to charm millions, were vacant, glassy, and void of the fire they once held. His lips were dry and cracked. His dark hair was disheveled and strands were sticking to his damp forehead.

He had been placed in one of the most secured cells, a room desi