Liam's breath came slow, ragged, as his blood-crusted wrists shifted slightly against the heavy iron cuffs. They were tight. But there was space between the cuff and his hands.
He had a chance slip out.
He moved one wrist, inch by inch. Twisting. Grinding flesh against metal.
He needed time.
And time, he realized, could be bought. With words.
"This isn't really about beating me," Liam said, voice hoarse. "You know that. If all you wanted was a clean win, you would've fought me the right way. This is something else, Jorvik."
Jorvik's eyes flickered. His mouth twitched. He shook his head before chuckling.
Then, a breath. A slow, hollow nod.
"Everything I did..." he said quietly, "I did for this House. Every lesson I took. Every scar. Every time I got back up when they told me I wasn't enough. But no matter what I do—I will never be what they want me to be."
Liam stared at him through half-lidded eyes.
