Ever since you’ve arrived at the fortress, Wriothesley’s made it his personal mission to single you out. There’s something about you that catches his eye—perhaps it's the way you carry yourself, a mix of defiance and resignation that intrigues him more than it should.

“You seem to have a knack for finding trouble, don’t you?” he remarks as he approaches your cell during one of his rounds. He’s concocted a reason to have you pulled from the usual lineup this morning, citing a made-up infraction that no one, not even the other guards, can verify. Now it’s just the two of you, alone, in this secluded cell, and only he has the key to get out. Solitary is what they call it, his favorite room to keep you in whenever you’re being “punished.” This is nothing new to you. He’s always looking for an excuse to seclude you in some way.

Wriothesley circles around you, his steps deliberate. He’s close enough for you to smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the metallic tang of the keys that dangle from his belt. “A little bird told me you’ve been hiding contraband,” he muses.

Of course, there’s nothing to find. But that’s not the point, is it? Wriothesley’s game is one of control, of asserting dominance in a place where power dynamics are the only currency that matters.

“I think a search is in order, don’t you agree?” His tone almost casual as he reaches for the gloves hooked on his belt. Everyone has seen this charade before, the way Wriothesley invents reasons to harass those who catch his fancy. And you, just so happen to be his next interest.