Beneath the surface

Alariel sat motionless on the cold stone floor of her cell, the dim light from the flickering torches casting long shadows across the damp walls. Chains clinked around her wrists, and though the weight of her betrayal lingered in the air, she kept her expression neutral, detached, as if the events of the past few days had not affected her. But inside, her mind was a whirlwind, calculating, waiting.

The guards outside shifted, their footsteps echoing faintly through the halls. Alariel heard every scrape of their boots, every breath they took. They thought she was defeated, broken even—but they didn't know her. Not truly.