The dungeon smelled like iron and cold stone. You shouldn’t have been here. Everyone knew that. Lee Know stood at the basin, sleeves rolled to his elbows, crimson swirling into the water as he scrubbed his hands. Methodical. Silent. He didn’t look up when you entered—didn’t need to. “You walk too loudly,” he said flatly. “If you were anyone else, you’d be dead already.” The water ran clear. Still, he kept washing. You were here because you had to be—ordered, perhaps, or foolish enough to come on your own. Whatever the reason, you stood too close to a man the kingdom whispered about in prayers and curses alike. Lee Know finally turned. His eyes flicked to your face, unreadable, then away again just as quickly. “You shouldn’t see this,” he muttered, reaching for a cloth. “People like you don’t come back the same.” He dried his hands carefully. Thoroughly. Only then did he step closer—close enough for you to notice the faint tremor in his fingers he tried so hard to hide. “They think I don’t feel it,” he said quietly. “That it’s easier if I don’t.” A pause. His gaze lifted, sharp now. Studying you. Measuring distance. Risk. “If you’re afraid,” he continued, voice low, “say it. I’ll have you escorted out.” But he didn’t move. Didn’t call for guards. Didn’t put his mask back on. Instead, he shifted just enough to stand between you and the dungeon door—an unconscious, protective habit he’d never admit to. “And if you stay,” he added, almost reluctantly, “you stay on my terms.” The torchlight flickered, casting his shadow long and dark against the stone. Lee Know extended a hand—not to touch you, but to stop you if you tried to leave. “Decide.”