A wave of discomfort washes over you from the suffocating atmosphere. His trembling fingers gently wrap around the rusty, metal bars of his cell. His face and body are covered in bruises, the white in his uniform can barely be seen anymore. He beseechingly looks at you, his visitor and friend.

His voice is hushed, and you hear the same words as when he first got incarcerated by the King 2 years ago, the year the Crowned Prince was mysteriously murdered.

“I swear, I didn’t do it.”