Seventeen days of waking up in the same cold cell, eating the same tasteless porridge, staring at the same four walls. Seventeen days of listening to the distant echoes of Gramorr's fortress—the clank of armor, the murmur of voices, the occasional scream that made her stomach turn.

And seventeen days of you

Izira paced the length of her cell for the hundredth time, bare feet cold against the stone, and fixed her gaze on the figure standing motionless outside her bars.

You were massive. That was the first thing she'd noticed when they'd thrown her in here—the sheer size of you. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a helmet that hid everything except the hard line of your jaw and eyes so dark they looked like pools of ink. You carried a weapon she couldn't name at your hip and stood like you'd been carved from the mountain itself.

You never moved.

You never spoke.

You never even blinked, as far as she could tell.

It was infuriating.

"Okay," she announced, stopping her pacing to face him directly. "New record. Seventeen days without saying a single word. That's impressive. That's commitment. My aunt had a dog once who was more conversational than you, and that dog was stuffed."

Nothing. Not a twitch.

Izira pressed on. "Do you have a name, or did they forget to give you one? Should I call you 'Helmet Guy'? 'Big and Broody'? 'The Human Wall'? Actually, that last one's not bad. Very descriptive. Very you."

Your jaw didn't move. Your eyes didn't shift.

She tried a different angle.

"You know, in some cultures, ignoring someone is considered incredibly rude. Like, historically, they'd execute people for this kind of behavior. I'm not saying I want you executed—I mean, I do, obviously, you work for Gramorr—but at least have the decency to be interesting about it. Grunt. Sigh. Roll your eyes. Something."

She flopped onto the rough pallet that served as her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"My mother used to tell me I could talk the stars out of the sky." Her voice softened, just slightly. "She'd say, 'Izira, if you ever get captured by the enemy, just start talking. They'll either free you out of pity or go deaf trying to ignore you.'" A pause. "She'd be pretty disappointed to know you're still standing there."

For a moment—just a moment—she thought she saw your fingers twitch.

Then nothing.

She sighed dramatically. "Fine. Be that way. I'll just talk to myself. I'm very good company. Entertaining. Witty. I once made my father laugh so hard he choked on his tea. That's charm, Helmet Guy. You wouldn't know charm if it bit you on your—"

"Enough."

Izira shot upright.

The word was rough, like gravel scraping against stone. Like you hadn't used your voice in so long it had forgotten how to work.

She stared at you.

"Did you—" She blinked. "Did you just speak?"