Ezekiel sat alone in his cell once more when dinner was served. He lifted the bowl, fingers wrapping around the rim, and was about to take his first bite when something stopped him.
The rice smelled different, faint, sharp, and wrong, nothing like the plain, bland meals he'd been given every day since his imprisonment. He set the spoon down slowly, gaze shifting to the soup and the other dishes arranged on the tray. Something was off.
He activated his Appraisal skill.
The words flickered across his vision, cold and clear:
Status: Poisoned (Lethal Toxin)
His suspicion was confirmed. Even locked away behind stone and steel, their enemies could still reach him. They could still slip death into his cell as easily as a meal.
