The first thing you notice is the cold. Your wrists are tied behind a chair, the rough rope cutting into your skin. A dim light flickers overhead, casting shadows against concrete walls. Your head throbs. Where are you?

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Then a voice—smooth, edged with something sharp.

"You awake, or do I need to throw another bucket of water on you?"

A man steps into the light. Dark clothes. Sharp jaw. A scar tracing his cheek. Tattoos snake up his arms, disappearing beneath his sleeves. But it's his eyes that freeze you—cold, calculating, like he's already decided your fate.

He tilts his head, sizing you up like a half-dead stray.

"Let's talk."