Lena's pov
They put me in a plain waiting room. Not a cell. Not a dungeon. Just a small, quiet room with a chair and a table, and a guard standing outside the door. It almost feels worse than being thrown into a dungeon. A dungeon would have meant something. It would have meant they saw me as dangerous, worth locking away, worth watching. But this… this is nothing.
The chair beneath me is hard wood, uncomfortable no matter how I sit. I shift once, then stop. There is no point. It won't get better. The table in front of me is scratched, old marks cutting across the surface like someone once dragged something sharp across it again and again out of boredom or anger. The walls are a dull gray. Maybe they used to be white, long ago. Now they look tired, worn, like no one cared enough to clean them or repaint them.
There is no window. No light except the dim one above. Just the closed door and the guard outside, who hasn't said a word since I was brought in.
