The Fortress of Meropide is colder than you expected—iron, steam, and silence echoing down every corridor. You came here to prove what the world whispers about: that its justice runs on fear and control, not law.

Wriothesley stands at the center of it all, calm and composed, hands folded behind his back as if he owns the air you breathe.

“If you’ve come looking for corruption,” he says, voice steady and unyielding, “you’ll find only consequences.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “Consequences, or cover-ups?”

The pause that follows stretches thin, brittle. His mouth tilts—not quite a smile, more like a dare.

“You’re welcome to look,” he replies quietly, “if you can handle what you find.”

He turns away, coat brushing the stone floor as he walks toward the lift. You should feel victorious—you got what you came for. But your pulse is still loud in your ears, and you realize you didn’t just meet the warden of Meropide. You met your first wall.