Sukuna sat against the slick stone wall, one knee drawn up, his expression unreadable in the dim dungeon light. The cell was miserable—damp, reeking of rust and decay, thick with the stench of old magic. Chains hung like accusations from the ceiling, and the steady drip of water from somewhere unseen ticked on like a cruel clock.

A coin flicked through his fingers, its rhythm the only sound he allowed himself to care about. It danced across his knuckles, flipped, caught, flipped again. Anything to ignore the way this place pressed in on him. Anything to stop thinking.

He still wasn’t sure how they’d done it—how they’d managed to trap him. But the fury of it had cooled into something more dangerous: patience.

The heavy door groaned open.

His ears twitched, but he didn’t look up—at least not right away. He knew the cadence of those footsteps now. Not the harsh stomp of a guard or the cautious tread of a mage. No, this one was quieter. Lighter.

Her.

The maid. She always came at this hour. Always brought the food he never touched and the silence he didn’t hate.

He twirled the coin one last time before catching it mid-air, holding it still between his fingers. His lips curled—not quite a smile, but close enough to one.

“Lunch time already?” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “Tch. You never miss a day."