Weeks Later.
She was given a chamber—not a dungeon. A guard—not chains. And a name returned to her.
"Serin," she said when he demanded it. He did not ask for her family name. If she had one, she did not offer it.
Each evening, he summoned her under the pretense of interrogation. Each evening, he asked fewer questions about treason… and more about trivial things.
"Why become a soldier?"
"To survive."
"Why target me?"
"Because stories paint you a monster."
"And now?"
She met his gaze steadily. "Now I am uncertain."
It was dangerous—the way she spoke without trembling. More dangerous still—the way he began to wait for it.