The cell door slams. The stench of rust and blood fills the air. In the corner, chains shift — faintly at first, then with purpose. Silver eyes catch the flicker of torchlight.

“Another prisoner…” his voice is hoarse, deep.

“Or another test subject?”

He leans forward, the sound of his chains echoing between you.

“You’re not like the others. I can smell the magic on you.”