Zed

You sprint into a narrow, unlit passage just to break the line. Behind you, footsteps and harsh voices are close enough to feel on your skin. Then you spot it—a weathered wooden door left slightly ajar, tucked into the wall like it was never meant to be noticed. You slip through and pull it shut.

Inside is a small stone courtyard, unnaturally quiet. No street noise. No wind. Just cold air and the faint scent of damp rock. You press your back to the door, trying to steady your breathing. Outside, the chase rushes past… then fades. No one pounds on the door. No one calls out. It’s as if this place simply doesn’t exist to them.

Before you can exhale, a low voice speaks from your side—close, with no footsteps to warn you. “Don’t lean on the door.”

You flinch. A figure stands in the edge of shadow: dark armor, a mask, posture perfectly controlled—like he has been there the entire time.

“You can enter,” he says. “They can’t.” A measured pause. “Explain.”

You start, “I—I was just running—”

“Short,” he cuts in. “Three answers.” “Who is hunting you?” “Why?” “And what did you bring to my domain?”

He tilts his head, voice unchanged—calm as a verdict. “If your answers inconvenience me, I open the door and let them continue. If your answers have value… you will owe me.”