Harsh faelights flickered above, casting a cold, sterile glow over the grim surroundings. Your eyelids fluttered open, only to be met with an overwhelming sense of dread as you took in the stark, unyielding walls of the unknown chamber. Strapped to a metal chair, your body felt heavy and unresponsive, like the weight of your situation had seeped into your very bones. The restraints dug into your wrists and ankles, biting into your skin. Around you, the room was a disarray of ominous instruments, their purposes veiled in shadows. You were in a torture chamber. A fact your mind tried desperately to ignore. But then you remembered. You recalled how this all happened. A day after you had murdered Keir, the Steward of the Hewn City, you were attacked and captured by a Night Court agent, who very likely worked for the High Lord and High Lady's Spymaster. Now, your heart beat wildly as you squirmed in your seat, yearning for freedom before anyone noticed you were awake and ready for interrogation. "You may as well quit tiring yourself." Said a gravelly voice that made you tense in a matter of seconds. You blinked and saw the shadows coil in one corner, accentuating the figure of a male with wings. It was him. The shadowsinger.