The cell is exactly as barren as that first glance suggested. No hidden doors. No convenient weaknesses in the stone. Nothing except the cot, four walls, a ceiling barely high enough to stand under, and that single grate near the top that probably leads nowhere helpful.
I’m studying the grate, trying to judge if it’s large enough to fit through, even if I could reach it. But even if I could, I’m shackled, so what’s the use when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Heavy and deliberate, each step measured with the kind of precision that suggests someone accustomed to moving through darkness without needing light to guide them.
The footsteps stop outside my door.
I back toward the far wall, putting as much distance as possible between myself and whoever is on the other side, my heart hammering so hard it hurts. The lock doesn’t disengage, but I hear breathing through the gap between door and frame, slow and steady, like whoever’s out there has all the time in the world to stand and listen.
Then the viewing slot slides open with a metallic scrape that makes me flinch.
The ice man’s glowing eyes fill the opening, blue fire in darkness, studying me with intensity that makes my skin crawl.
He doesn’t speak
He simply watches…
And the silence stretches until I can’t stand it anymore. “What the hell doyouwant?” My voice comes out shakier than I’d like, but at least it’s not screaming.
“To see if you’re comfortable.” The words drip with sarcasm cold enough to frost. “Can’t have you gettingtoocozy down here. Heard the iron had a reaction.”
“Iron?” The question barely makes it past suddenly numb lips. “Why iron?”
His eyes narrow, studying me like I’ve said something revealing. “You really don’t know, do you? What you are? What you might be capable of?”
“I knowexactlywhat I am!” Anger flares hot enough to burn through fear, at least temporarily. “Human, mortal, nothing special except being in the wrong place at the absolutely worst possible time. And you’ve chained me like an animal because your weird fire liked me? That’s insane! You’re insane! This whole fucking thing is insane!”
“The flame hasn’t responded to anyone in decades.” His voice drops to that sub-zero register, sending the temperature in the cell plummeting another five degrees. “Certainly not to any human who’s wandered into our territory. So, either you’relying about what you are, or you’re ignorant of the abilities you possess. Either way, until I know which, you stayexactlywhere I can control you.”
Control me? Huh! Like hell, tyrant!
The viewing slot starts to slide closed, and I lunge forward before conscious thought approves the movement. “Wait! You can’t just leave me down here. I’m hurt. I need medical attention. At minimum, I need water and food and—”
“You’ll get what you need to survive!” His voice roars like a predatory animal, the huge door rattling with its intensity. I scramble back a couple of steps, almost falling over my chains as the slot snaps shut, cutting off my view of those burning eyes. “Nothing more. Nothing less. Learn to appreciate the distinction.” His tone is less aggressive now, but still loud, nonetheless.
His footsteps fade back up the stairs, leaving me alone again with nothing but weak light and growing terror for company.
I sink onto the cot, springs protesting with sounds that suggest they’ve carried too many bodies over too many years. The thin mattress does nothing to cushion stone beneath, but at least it’s off the floor, away from the cold that’s already trying to steal what little warmth my body maintains.
Time becomes meaningless in the absence of windows or clocks. Minutes might be hours. Hours might be days. The overhead bulb continues its weak flickering, providing just enough illumination to make the shadows worse, not better.
I try to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see the hunter’s neck bent at that impossible angle, his eyes wide and glassy with terror that didn’t fade even in death. I hear his voice screaming about monsters and dragons, warnings I dismissed as trauma-induced ravings that turn out to be horrifically accurate.
Footsteps come again sometime later, heavy enough that I feel them before I properly hear them, the rhythm wrongin a way my body reacts to instantly. Each step carries an accompanying sound I can’t quite place, metal dragging across stone, maybe, or something sharper, a scraping undertone that makes my skin tighten as it moves closer.
The small viewing slot slides open.
What looks back at me is not human.
Not even close.
The shape fills the narrow opening with a presence so dense it feels like pressure against my chest, hollow eyes set deep in a gaunt face that looks carved from starvation itself. Skin is pulled tight over bone, stretched thin enough that every ridge and hollow stands out in stark relief, shadows shifting along its surface in ways that make my vision struggle to keep up. The longer I look, the more those shadows seem to move on their own, as though the thing’s form isn’t entirely fixed, as though hunger has warped it into something that doesn’t obey the rules flesh is supposed to follow.
Its mouth parts slightly.
Teeth crowd into the space, too many of them, layered and uneven, all sharp in a way that makes my stomach twist. A cold wave rolls through me, not the physical chill I felt with the prez’s ice, but something deeper and more invasive, something that sinks past skin and muscle and settles directly into my nerves.
Oh God.
This must be Wreck.
