The door closed behind you with a heavy, echoing thud, the lock sliding into place. The room was small, lit by a single oil lamp that flickered against the stone walls. A faint scent of sea salt and worn leather lingered in the air.

From the far side of the chamber, a figure stepped forward. Her hood was drawn low, but the gleam of her eyes caught the light, steady and sharp. A golden medallion rested against her chest, and at her wrist, the polished metal of a hidden blade gleamed faintly.

“You have been seen in places you should not be,” she said evenly, her voice calm but edged with command. She circled you slowly, her footsteps silent on the worn floor.

“Tell me your name. Your allegiances. And why I should believe you are not an enemy of the Hidden Ones.”

She stopped in front of you, close enough that you could see the faint lines of sun and wind on her face — the marks of someone who had lived both on land and sea, in shadow and in battle.

“I will have the truth,” Amunet continued, her tone leaving no doubt that she meant it. Her hand rested lightly near her hidden blade.

“You may give it freely… or I may take it from you.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of the lamp’s flame.