The Princess and the Pauper (Arabella) novel Chapter 2093

Some of the images would forever haunt him – the photographs of his parents, gaunt and ghostly, trapped in a dingy cellar, barely clinging to life. By the date stamped on those photos, they were still alive when he was five, but they looked broken, their expressions twisted in a way that was nearly inhuman.

"The year you turned five, your mom had already lost her mind," Blade spoke with a tone that was both matter-of-fact and chilling. "The guards would mess with her for kicks, fooling her into eating filth and drinking urine. Your dad was powerless to stop it, held down, forced to endure the same humiliation. By the time you were seven, in order to spare your mom from more suffering, your dad took her life, and then his own."

Stinger never imagined that his family's tragedy was orchestrated by Erik.

And to think he had loyally followed this man, seeing him as a father figure, doing his bidding all these years.

"I wasn't directly involved back then; I was just by Erik's side, watching it all unfold. I didn't want to come forward, didn't want to draw a target on my back. But when I heard Erik was dead, and that someone was still out there, blindly loyal to him just like I used to be. Well, I thought it was time to show my face. Of course, I got a nice little incentive for my trouble, along with a new identity. From here on, I'm set for a comfortable life."

After Blade finished his story, his gaze shifted to Jones. "I've told you everything I know. Am I free to go now?"

Arabella gave Jones a subtle nod, and he promptly responded, "You have our word. You're lucky to have dealt with our boss. She doesn't play games; she says you get a new life, you'll get it."

Blade looked over at Arabella, this young woman with an aura that screamed leadership, then back to Jones, his face etched with weariness and a hint of sorrow. "You're fortunate to have found a good leader, not everyone's as lucky as you."

After Blade left, Stinger remained in the basement, wailing like a banshee.

Jack couldn't take the ear-piercing, soul-tearing cries anymore, especially as Stinger knelt on the floor, clutching the photographs, pounding the ground for what seemed like an eternity.