Kane
The cell is as dark as it is cold, with stone walls pressing in on me like the weight of all my failures. The shackles around my wrists bite into my skin, a constant reminder that I walked into this willingly. I was convinced I could save her. Now, the only sounds that keep me company are the drip of water somewhere far off and the distant echoes of footsteps in the labyrinth of hallways above.
Suddenly, the door to my cell creaks open, the sound
of metal grating against stone sharp in the stillness. I sit up, muscles tense, as a figure steps into the dim light. It's him.
Leonard.
He's dressed as if he's about to attend a royal banquet—regal and immaculate in his tailored suit. His face, usually so composed and unreadable, carries a twisted smirk that makes my blood boil.
"Well, well, Kane," Leonard drawls, his voice dripping with mockery.