Torture Corner

Cassian

The warehouse is ours. Thousands of square feet of open concrete and rusted scaffolding, an old chop shop gutted to nothing but bones. Two stories of wide-open air and metal beams. Some shifters would see a mess. I see a throne room.

We hauled the couch through the doors first, and I almost kissed it right there. Our poor futon had died a violent death, snapped clean in half during Ember’s