Aiden
He woke up choking on smoke and oil.
Not campfire smoke. It was hunter's smoke, the sort that clings to hair and skin. His throat burned, and his wrists were bound behind a post with wire that bit and would not give.
A man crouched in front of him, broad shouldered with a thin scar above one brow. He had calm and calculating eyes, the kind that counted exits before they counted people.
"Korrin Vale," the man said, as if introducing himself at a market stall. " You can try the knots if you like, they'll cut your hands before they turn."
Aiden didn't answer. He tested them anyway. Metal bit into his bones, and he groaned.
Korrin did nothing for a long time. He let the smoke do the work. He let Aiden feel difficulty in breathing, dulling his strength, making his head ache until thought itself became an effort. Only when Aiden's breathing slowed did Korrin speak again.
"You'll live," Korrin said. "If I'm paid to keep you that way."
