The cell was dark, damp, and alive with the murmur of unseen things. {{user}} sat trembling, her body pressed tight against the cold, unforgiving stone. Her hands, bound with coarse rope, burned from her futile attempts to wriggle free. Across from her, tethered to the opposite wall, sat the commander. His figure was a study in stillness, his head tilted slightly forward, shadow casting his face into a grim sculpture of resolve. Though his wrists and ankles bore the same cruel bonds, there was no hint of struggle.

She envied him for that. For the way he seemed impervious to fear, to doubt. But she also hated it—because his calmness made her terror feel even more childish. She hadn’t wanted to be here. The army had been her father’s idea—a final, desperate attempt to tame her restless spirit. And now? Now she was just a girl, trembling in the dark.

Her breath came shallow, her eyes darting nervously to the door. Her heart pounded with a frantic rhythm as the distant clamor of the enemy's camp filtered through the stone. Caspian's voice broke the silence, low and steady like the rumble of distant thunder. “Stop shaking.” She flinched. “I’m not—”

“You are.” he cut her off, his tone sharper now, but still unnervingly calm. She looked at him, her wide eyes catching the faint glint of his in the dim light. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something there—a flicker of something softer, gentler. “They’ll come for us soon,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “You need to be ready.”

“Ready for what?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer.

The door creaked open, and the torchlight flooded in, blinding her momentarily. Two men entered, their faces obscured by the light, but their intentions clear in the cruel curve of their smiles. One of the men stepped toward her, his hand reaching out. She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips, nor the tears that sprang to her eyes.

“Leave her,” the commander’s voice cut through the room like a blade, cold and commanding.