The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 1043

*The second I'm out of here, I'm going to make him pay,* Fitch promised himself.

But no matter how much he tried to hype himself up, a cold, undeniable dread was clawing its way up from his gut. He rubbed his fingertips together, realizing his hands were slick with nervous sweat.

Would he actually walk out of here? Would The Patron—the terrifying mastermind operating in the shadows, the man who was fully prepared to discard even Talbot—lift a finger to save him?

Just then, the heavy door swung open again.

Fitch scowled, irritated by the interruption. He assumed it was the detectives coming back to grill him on more trivial details.

He glanced up.

In the next second, it was as if a lightning bolt struck him straight in the chest. He practically vaulted out of his chair, the metal legs shrieking violently against the floor. The blood drained from his face, his pupils dilating in pure, unadulterated shock.

"Callahan?"

"How... how are you here?!" His voice cracked, rising an octave in a mix of panic and disbelief.

"This is impossible! You're dead! You died in Northern Myanor!"

Standing in the doorway was Callahan Langley—the man who was supposed to be reduced to ash in a fiery explosion. He was dressed in a razor-sharp black suit, looking impossibly imposing. Aside from the icy, lethal glare in his eyes, he didn't have a scratch on him.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify