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He landed in a heap, picking himself up quickly. Coughing at the ash his fall had kicked up. It was a basement. Thewalls—now charred and blackened—bore the scars of the fire’s relentless fury. The ceiling was a web of exposed beams, some still smoldering in places, their strength compromised by the intense heat.

There was a bed in the corner. Oddly untouched by the fire. He heard… sniffling?

“Hello?” he called tentatively.

The sniffling stopped.

Carefully, he picked his way across the room, knelt beside the bed, and looked under.

And there she was.

Taly.

Covered in ash from head to toe, tears stained her face.

He’d asked the Universe, and it had delivered.

As he would soon find out, the Universe had a twisted sense of humor.

The air had a coppery scent.

Skye blinked open his eyes, vision blurry.

Cold metal beneath him. A bright light above. He tried to move his arms, his legs, but they were banded close to his body by arcs of steel.

He heaved,twisted—metal groaned but refused to give.

Skye’s head fell back against the table. He was having the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Another human phrase he knew on account of Taly.

The restraint, the disorientation, the creeping panic clawing at the edges of his mind—this wasexactlylike the kidnapping drills he’d been forced to undergo as a child.

Yes, his parents had performed drills where he woke up strapped to an operating table—because if he was taken, it wouldn’t be for ransom. It would be for power, for leverage.A prince was more valuable in pieces, in secrets, in whatever knowledge could be cut out of him.

He slowed his breathing and steadied his heart, just as he’d practiced, reaching far back into his memory. There was a protocol to follow.

First, don’t panic. Evaluate the situation.

The room was circular, the walls consumed by bookshelves stretching to a high-domed ceiling, where long tangles of wiring dripped from the rafters. That same wiring sprawled across every surface, threading through stone, mortar, and shelves like a network of capillaries. Long worktables sat scattered throughout the space, cluttered with moldy scrolls, ancient books, and crumbling notes—some lost beneath the ever-creeping web of wiring.

To one side, a bank of consoles blinked, screens flickering. Mechanical switches and arcane touchpads jutted from its surface, some worn smooth from use, others flickering with the remnants of half-faded enchantments.

A low, churning sound filled the air, coming from below him.

Skye craned his head to look—difficult with the way it was banded to the table—but he could see… it looked like blood. Like giant vats of it stirring beneath the cracked marble flooring. Four of them. That would explain the smell.

So, by all professional metrics, what they had here was a pretty standard lair for a mad bloodmage who nearly ripped apart space and time. Perfect.

Second, seek vulnerabilities.

Whoever had tied him up had done a great job—no notes.

Cori was also frozen in the doorway, stuck forever in that first moment of initial shock. She wouldn’t be coming to anyone’s rescue.

Oh, and this tower was tucked away in a weird prison dimension no one could access. Yeah, he was fucked.

Third, identify the captor and try to build a rapport—create sympathy.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Skye offered, hearing footsteps at his back. “It has a real, uh,creative energy.” He got a noncommittal grunt. He was trying his best.