Nero's head snapped up.
He had been deep in study when he sensed it.
There was movement in the corridor outside his cell. Footsteps, deliberate and measured, accompanied by the faint clink of metal on stone.
Someone was coming.
His first instinct was to pretend to be asleep, lying back onto the straw and feigning unconsciousness. But then, he stopped himself.
It had been two weeks since he was thrown down here. Two weeks of silence and isolation broken only by daily visits to throw him the flavorless rations.
At the very least, it was either that, or something different.
If it was the other, chances were they wouldn't let him stay unconscious.
So there was no need to pretend.
He sat up.
The heavy footsteps drew closer.
Nero's brows furrowed,
This felt different for some reason.
