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The first time it happened, I stared too, but not for the same reason. I wasted days trying to understand the pattern—wanting to know what triggered it, what logic it obeyed. I no longer bother.

The tower gives. The tower withholds. It does not answer.

“The tower provides everything I need.” I keep my tone matter-of-fact, but I savor her reaction. Her disbelief reminds me of how extraordinary this place must appear to her, while to me it’s something I’ve long since grown immune to.

Her gaze jerks between the table and me, her face pale beneath the sunburn. “That’s not possible.”

“And yet you saw it happen.” I gesture to the table, unable to suppress a slight smile at her distress. Each impossibility she sees frays her connection to her world’s logic a little more. “You should eat, build up your strength. The food is quite real, I assure you.”

She approaches cautiously, as though the meal might vanish … or attack. “What about you?” She looks between me and the food, wariness still evident in the tense set of her shoulders.

“I don’t need to eat as often as you do.” I don’t offer further explanation than that, turning away slightly. Let her wonder about what else might be different about me. The less she understands about my condition, about what the binding has done to me over years, the better. Some vulnerabilities are too dangerous to reveal, even to someone who might be the key to my freedom.

She examines the food from all angles before finally sitting down. Her hunger eventually overcomes her suspicion, but she eats slowly, glancing up at me between bites.

“You said this place is called Meridian?”

“The realm, yes. The desert where we are is called Sunfire Dunes.”

“That’s original,” she mutters around a spoonful of stew.

I allow myself a small smile at her sarcasm. Her spirit remains intact despite her circumstances. A quality that might prove useful if properly directed.

“Is there anything beyond the desert?”

“The Obsidian Peaks to the north, impassable most of the year, if ever. Thornevale Ridge lies east. And west, the Moonlit Basin. Beautiful, if one can avoid the salt storms.”

She absorbs the information, filing it away as if any of those places might offer her an escape route.

They won’t.

“And the people who live here? What are they like?”

That’s a more complicated question, and one I need to be careful with.

“I would imagine they’re similar to the people in your world, in most respects. Though their relationship with the forces I mentioned is … different.”

“Differenthow?”

“Some fear those forces. Others embrace them.” I keep the explanation deliberately vague. There’s no need to share anything about the purges, the bloodlines, the systematic destruction of anyone with magical ability. Not when it’s unlikely she will ever need to understand Meridian that deeply.

She seems to sense my evasion, but doesn’t press. Instead, she looks at me.

“And where doyoufit into all of this?”

“That isn’t easy to answer.”

“I have time.” Her voice is dry.

My lips twitch. “Indeed.”

The light begins to dim as the day comes to an end, the blue-violet glow that illuminates the chamber softening to a deeper hue. I stand up and walk over to my sleeping area, as I feel the binding come to life—a slight change in the perpetual hum, a difference in the vibrations in the air. Each evening follows the same pattern, a torment designed by my captors with exquisite attention to detail. When darkness claims the world outside, the magic gradually restricts my movements more and more, until I’m eventually confined to my bed, rendered helpless as a child.

I settle onto the mattress before the binding can force me there, maintaining the illusion of choice. I ensure my movements appear natural, giving my guest no clue that my freedom is being steadily diminished with each passing minute.

“You should try and rest properly tonight.” I point to the chest at the foot of my bed. “There are blankets and pillows in there.”

She hesitates, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping anywhere near me. I can almost hear her calculating the distance between my bed and various points in the chamber, looking for a spot that balances comfort with safety. Her intuition serves her well, even if she doesn’t understand the true nature of her danger.