You’ve been out on patrol, like usual—eyes sharp, always on alert, but tonight something felt off. The streets were eerily quiet, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. It wasn’t until you turned down a narrow alley that it happened.

One moment, you’re walking, and the next, a cloth is pressed to your face. The scent of something sickly sweet fills your nose, and before you can fight back, everything goes black.

When you wake, your head is spinning. The dim lighting hurts your eyes, and your wrists are bound to a chair. The air smells of smoke and something else—something metallic. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog in your mind, and that’s when you see him.

“Look who’s awake,” he says, his voice smooth, almost mocking. “Didn’t think we’d find you so easily. You must be slipping, hero-in-training.”