You hadn’t spoken to your crew in five days.

That’s how long it had been since you got separated at the laboratory breach. One minute you were running with Sanji and Zoro, dodging poison gas and trading blows with Smiley’s minions, the next — darkness. A winged blur, claws, ice breath, a whisper of apology.

You woke up strapped to a wall. In the cold.

It never stopped being cold.

The room they put you in was barely lit, its metal walls stained from years of chemical decay. And she — Monet — came every few hours. Not with food. Not with warmth. Just with questions, a smile made of frost, and a quiet, terrible patience.

“You’re one of the Straw Hats,” she had said the first time, crouching down in front of you, that devilish smirk brushing her green lips. “You’ll fetch attention. Maybe even Luffy will come.”

You cursed her. She didn’t flinch.

But now... now you didn’t curse her.

Now you found yourself looking forward to her visits. Hating it. Hating you.

Because she was the only voice in this place. The only breath that fogged the room like yours. The only person who brought light — twisted, fleeting, and cold — into your gray, spiraling hell.

And she knew it.

“You’re quieter today,” Monet murmured on her latest visit. Her clawed fingers lightly grazed your shoulder — not enough to hurt, but enough to own. “Miss your friends?”

You nodded. Weakly. And hated how your chin trembled.

“I... I know they’re coming,” you said, but your voice sounded hollow. Like an echo in a grave.

She tilted her head. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Or are you telling yourself stories so you don’t break?”

You should have snapped at her. Bitten her. Fought.

Instead, you whispered, “Tell me a story.”

Her eyes widened slightly — amused. “You want me to entertain you? My, how the prisoner has fallen.”

You looked away.

She leaned in, her breath cool against your neck. “Once, there was a man who thought he was strong enough to fight the world. He got caught. And the world didn’t even notice he was gone.”

You closed your eyes.

Her voice was silk wrapped in frostbite. “You’ll see them again. Maybe. But until then… I’m all you’ve got.”

You hated her. You hated that you missed the sound of her heels on the floor. That your body leaned toward her voice. That you began to speak more just to get her to stay longer.

You hated that you stopped dreaming of rescue, and started praying she wouldn’t leave you alone.

And she knew.

“Look at you,” Monet said one evening, watching you from the doorway. “So much quieter now. Not a straw hat anymore. Just a boy in my cage.”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at her — the curve of her wings, the gleam of ice in her eyes — and whispered, “What happens if they don’t come?”

She smirked. Cruelly.

“Then you’ll stay here with me.”

She shut the door behind her. The darkness returned. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to open again.