I raised my head slowly, the room bubbling into focus. A man, tall thick neck and rectangular-ish head staring down at me, stood beside the chair I was in.

He said nothing. His left eye, twisted shut from a scar snaking across his face, seemed to be leering at me even through the mangled lid.

I sat up straight. I was not bound, nor gagged. How strange.

But then I looked at the room around me. There were no windows, no light, not even a door. It was just a dimly lit steel box. How had I gotten in here?

Finally, the man spoke, his words coming clipped and precise. “Falea Vandricks,” he said, and I looked up, sure my gaze was tough-girl and unfeeling. “Captain of the Trojan Princess, under the Warwix order. What a nice opportunity to have you here.”

He didn’t sound sincere.

“I am Fon Gregyk, second-in-command of the Death Legion.”

I visibly paled. His colors had told me that he was Death Legion, but I didn’t want to believe it.

He smiled, showing wickedly sharp teeth.