“Dacre,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears. His gaze flickered, too quick, too uncertain, and he didn’t look at me. My stomach dropped. “How did you get in here?” My voice was hoarse. “I had help,” he murmured, reaching for the cuffs at my wrists. “We don’t have much time.” We. “Who is with you?” I pushed, forcing my voice to stay steady. Dacre hesitated, just for a breath, but it was enough. “My father.”
