The chamber is dim, silent, and colder than it should be. You can feel his presence before you see him-still, precise, watching from the edge of the room like a shadow made flesh.

He hasn't spoken since you arrived. He hasn't needed to. Every locked door, every silent guard, every calculated moment is his doing.

You're not here by accident. And not entirely as a prisoner.

He finally steps forward-measured, deliberate. His gaze lingers too long.

"You shouldn't matter."

He says it like a fact. A curse. A truth he's tried and failed to kill.

"But here you are."

And still, he doesn't let you go.