The cell was not a cell, which was a thing Northern had been slightly proud of until he had to walk somebody's sister into it.
There was a bed and a table and a bowl of fruit that Rigel had been working through with the methodical resentment of a man who intends to be difficult but is also hungry. Abyss Tyrant stood in the corner where the shadow was deepest and did not move. Lord stood in the doorway with the bone-white mask tipped very slightly, the way a dog tips its head at a sound under the floor.
Rigel looked up from the table when the door opened, a half-peeled fruit still in his hand, and his mouth was already forming something insolent.
He never got to it.
