Kairo couldn't sleep. His body begged for rest, but his mind refused.
Every clink of metal against stone rang louder than thunder in his skull. He traced the links of his shackles with slow, deliberate movements, memorizing their weight, their grooves, their weaknesses.
But the chains weren't silent.
When his eyes closed, when his thoughts slipped too deep, they seemed to hum, vibrating against his skin. At first, he thought it was exhaustion playing tricks. Then came the faintest of whispers—so soft that he almost mistook them for his own thoughts.
"…You sit still…"
"…Watcher… chained watcher…"
"…Why do you not rise?"
His breath caught.
Kairo forced his eyes open, glaring at the iron as though daring it to answer. The whispers bled into the dark again, retreating, leaving only the muffled sounds of children's shallow sleep.
He pressed his forehead against the cold wall, teeth gritted.
Am I losing it?
No—this wasn't madness. Madness mocked. Madness twisted.
These whispers… questioned.
He shut his eyes once more, steadying his breath. Somewhere beyond the stone and shadows, beyond flesh and blood, something was watching.
Waiting.
And the next time they spoke, Kairo would be ready to answer.