The dungeon was too quiet for his liking. Silence gave way to thoughts, and thoughts were far more dangerous than any chain Odin could forge. He’d already worn grooves into the floor pacing, every inch of his cell memorized — every rune, every flicker of the barrier that caged him like an animal.

A god, imprisoned. For daring to take a throne that should have been his by right.* For daring to touch what was always denied.

His anger had dulled into something colder now — not fire, but ice. It sat in his chest, heavy and patient. He would wait. He always waited.

But then came noise.

Six guards, armor clashing, voices sharp with tension. Loki lifted his head lazily, expecting another fool brought in for drunken treason — until he saw her. Chains. Restraints that shimmered with seiðr meant to suppress power. A girl — young, by Asgardian standards — though the way they handled her made it seem as if she could level the realm with a breath.

Curiosity stirred before he could stop it. They shoved her into the cell beside his, the barrier snapping to life with a golden shimmer. She didn’t resist. She just looked around, wide-eyed, as though she’d never seen anything so magnificent.

Loki tilted his head, studying her through the light. He almost smiled. Almost.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” He drawled when she reached out a hand toward the barrier. “The shock tends to ruin one’s mood for the evening.”