The voice cut through the dark.
Even with his thoughts splintered and his eyes useless, Shawn knew it instantly. Morgan. The man who had stripped away his family, his clan, and the very light from his eyes.
A low, animal growl scraped past Shawn's teeth. His fingers tore at the mattress, his instincts screaming at him to lunge, to tear, to defend. He threw his weight upward to sit, but his equilibrium shattered instantly. Without sight, the world tilted sideways. He couldn't find the edge of the bed; he couldn't even find his own balance.
He dropped back down, swallowed entirely by the infinite black.
Morgan moved deeper into the room, indifferent to the malice radiating from the bed. A dry metallic scrape echoed as he adjusted a ring on his finger, followed by the dull thud of a wooden stool hitting the floorboards.
The man sat.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and clinical, as Morgan simply watched him go through the motions of panic.
"Are you blind?" Morgan asked.
Shawn clamped his jaw shut. He squeezed his eyes closed under the lids, a useless gesture against the dark.
"I see," Morgan said softly. "A defect from the inheritance, then."
A glass vial clinked against another.
"Drink this. It will steady you."
Shawn didn't move. He hated the man, but the cold logic of survival kept him still; if Morgan wanted him dead, he would have left him to drown in the sea.
Footsteps approached, heavy and unhurried. A cool glass lip was pressed firmly into Shawn's palm.
The liquid was bitter, burning as it slid down his throat. Almost instantly, the violent throbbing behind his eyes eased. The crushing vice around his skull loosened, letting his scattered thoughts slow down to a manageable pace. His chest rose and fell evenly, though the physical relief only made the anger in his stomach burn hotter.
"What should I call you?" Morgan asked, settling back onto the stool. "Sigil never mentioned a name."
Shawn kept his mouth shut, desperately trying to anchor the floating pieces of his memory.
"Not talkative," Morgan murmured.
A small, dry chuckle escaped him.
"No matter. There are things you need to understand."
Shawn's ears strained, tracking every shift in the man's weight.
"I am Morgan Vonte. I intend to oversee your progress personally. You will be kept safe, and you will be provided for, assuming you don't make yourself a nuisance." [1]
The mock-protection in the tone felt tighter than any physical chain.
"Shawn," he rasped out. The name left his lips before his caution could stop it.
"Shawn. A strange choice," Morgan mused. "I was told you hadn't awakened any traits. How curious."
The air in the room suddenly grew cold. The casual conversational tone vanished, replaced by something heavy and suffocating.
"The reason you are here," Morgan continued, his voice dropping to a low, patient whisper as he leaned over the bed, "is because you have something that belongs to me. And I want it back."
Shawn felt the physical heat of the man's breath, a terrifyingly certain presence in the dark.
"I am a patient man, Shawn. But I always get what I require. Eventually, you will give it to me."
Morgan straightened up, his boots clicking against the floor as he turned and walked out, leaving Shawn alone with the echo of his name.
Outside in the hallway, the shadow of a butler in black fabric materialized, bowing low.
"Sir. Everything is ready," the servant murmured.
"I'll inspect the facility myself," Morgan replied. "In the meantime, feed our guest well. Keep him healthy. He is the spine of this entire project."
"Understood, sir."
"Furthermore, the banquet is in two months. Finalize the preparations immediately. The Third Prince is on the guest list, so I want no mistakes."
The butler bowed again and receded into the shadows of the corridor.
Morgan climbed to the upper floor, stopping before a massive reinforced door. Heavy iron chains rattled against the wood, secured by three separate padlocks. He pulled a heavy black key from his coat, sliding it into the mechanisms.
Clack.
Clang.
The iron gave way. He shoved the heavy door open.
The room inside was barren, dominated by a single metallic bed frame bolted to the floor. Across the ceiling, thin rubber tubes snaked like black veins, hanging down toward heavy leather restraints. The air smelled sharply of old blood and chemical preservatives.
Morgan looked over the restraints, checking the bolts with a slow nod.
Satisfied, he stepped back out into the hall and pulled the door shut.
The chains rattled violently, then went dead silent as the final lock clicked into place.