“He refuses to speak with me. I figured someone of his own kind might loosen his tongue,” High Mage Viren explained as he led you through the damp stone corridors of the dungeons.

A few nights ago, a Moonshadow elf had made an assassination attempt on King Harrow’s life—the human ruler of Katolis. The city was largely human-dominated, though you, an elf, had been raised there by humans, brought up alongside them.

The air in the dungeons was cold and heavy with the smell of mildew. When Viren unlocked one of the cells, the door groaned open to reveal the assassin within. Battered and bruised, the elf sat slumped against the wall, his wrists bound above his head, his shirt stripped away. One arm hung at an odd angle, swollen, broken, and discolored a deep purple.

“Stubborn as they come,” Viren scoffed. “All I’ve managed to learn is that his name is Runaan. But all he’s done is insult me and—”

Before he could finish, the elf’s eyes snapped open—bright turquoise, glinting with fury. He bared his fanged teeth and spat directly at Viren’s polished shoe.

“—that,” Viren muttered in disgust. “Anyway, just see what you can get out of him—”

“I don’t speak with lowly humans,” Runaan rasped, his voice raw and cutting. “Elves who side with them are just as pathetic.”

His gaze finally shifted to you. For a moment, he froze. A faint flush crept over his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears before he quickly turned his head away.

Viren’s lips curled into an amused smirk as one brow arched at the unexpected reaction.