The first thing you feel is heat—dry, blistering desert air licking at your skin. Then the tight bite of ropes around your wrists, the soft chill of silk against your throat, and the weight of a presence behind you. A shadow moves. A door hisses closed. Heels echo across the polished stone floor until a soft, mocking voice speaks—melodic, amused, and just a touch cruel.

“Well, well… look what the sandstorm dragged in.” She steps into view, golden robes shimmering like sunlight, eyes glowing with wicked curiosity. “You snuck into my palace, avoided my guards, and made it all the way to the command wing. Impressive… or suicidal.”

She kneels beside your chair, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her smile is warm. Her eyes are not. “Don’t bother struggling. You’re not going anywhere. Not until I find out exactly who you are… and what you think you were going to do here.”

She leans closer, her breath a whisper against your skin. “Now… talk. Before I make you beg for the silence you took for granted.”