Reclaiming My Broken Luna (Astrid and Killian) novel Chapter 401

Astrid’s POV

The dungeon was cold, the air damp and heavy with the scent of mildew and rusted iron.

Shadows danced on the rough stone walls as the faint light flickered, casting a dim, suffocating glow.

Killian stood beside me, his jaw tight and his arms crossed, every line of his body radiating tension.

Across from us, Andros sat slumped against the wall of his cell, his hands loosely bound in front of him.

His face was a mask of indifference, his eyes distant and unfocused as if he were a world away. He didn’t look at us, didn’t even flinch as we approached.

“Andros,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

He didn’t move. His breathing was even, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.

Killian took a step forward, his boots echoing on the stone floor. “Are you working with the rogues?” he demanded, his voice hard, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition.

Killian’s fists clenched at his sides. “Answer me, Andros. Are you one of them?”

I studied Andros carefully, searching for any sign of reaction, but his face was an empty canvas. It was as if we weren’t even there.

Killian and I expected this, that he would refuse to cooperate. In the past, he would rather be killed than to ask for forgiveness.

The silence stretched, growing heavier with each passing second. My patience frayed, but I forced myself to remain calm.

“Your silence speaks for you,” I said, taking a step closer to the iron bars. “If you won’t deny it, then I can only assume it’s true.”

That caught his attention. Andros’s eyes finally shifted, the faintest flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on me for the first time.

“And how long have you been working with them?” I pressed, keeping my voice sharp.

His lips twitched faintly, as if amused by the question. He leaned back against the wall, letting the silence hang for a moment longer before answering.

“The only time I worked with them,” he said, his voice quiet but clear, “was when I made a deal with them. Once.”

Killian stiffened beside me, his breath audible in the silence. I swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in.

“A deal?” I asked, my tone colder now. “You mean the deal that ended with our father dead?”

The shift was immediate. Andros’s composure cracked like a fragile mask dropped to the floor.

His distant gaze faltered, his lips twitching again, this time not in amusement but in something that looked painfully close to regret.

He blinked, his lashes fluttering against the faint sheen of moisture in his eyes.

His mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. For a moment, he was no longer the cold, indifferent brother who had stood over our father’s body without a shred of remorse.

He was someone else entirely—someone who looked almost… broken.