The only good part about it was that Damian had a cell to himself. At least he didn't have to share it with the murderers and thieves rotting in the other cages down there.

They shoved him inside and slammed the iron door shut. The officer on duty was someone Damian recognized—one of the guards who used to chat with him whenever he visited Lindy's research room.

As he locked the door, the officer leaned closer and whispered, "I know you didn't do anything. I'll try to help you out with Lindy, okay?"

Damian exhaled and nodded. "Thank you. Don't feel bad—you're just following orders."

Then the footsteps retreated, and silence swallowed the place whole.

The cell was cold, damp, and stinking of rust and mildew. Water dripped from somewhere unseen. He wasn't alone, though. Damian could sense the others—criminals locked in the surrounding cells, watching him from the darkness.

But they barely spoke. Their throats were hoarse from years underground, their spirits shattered. The only sounds they made were curses hurled at guards who passed too close.

Damian gritted his teeth and tried pulling at the bars. He knew it was useless, but he had to try.

A voice drifted from the next cell.

"Don't waste your strength. It won't work," the man said. His tone was flat, hollow—like someone who had been left in the dark too long and no longer cared. "Who are you, and what did you do to end up here?"

Damian stiffened. He didn't know who this man was, only that he was a criminal. Why should he share anything with him?

"I don't want to talk about it," Damian muttered.

The man chuckled, a low, broken sound. "Fine. I won't force you. But give it time—you'll want to talk. Everyone does. Loneliness eats at you until the words crawl out on their own."

"I won't be staying long," Damian shot back. "My arrest was a mistake."

"Oh, boy," the man whispered with a kind of twisted amusement, "they don't toss people down here by mistake. If you're in these cells, you're meant to stay."

And then he fell silent. No more words, no movement. Even when Damian tried to speak again, the man ignored him—like the darkness itself had swallowed him up.

And so, the days dragged on. Guards showed up now and then, bringing Damian something to eat. It wasn't anything good, but at least it kept the hunger away.

They also brought water. As for his other needs—well, Damian had to use a bucket. He could feel his body filthy, and little by little, his mind was starting to break down.

At first, Damian believed he'd be out in just a few days. But by his count—based on the meals the guards delivered—he had already been locked up for nine.

Nine days. Longer than the time he'd even spent as a student at the academy.

On the tenth day, the officer who had spoken to him before appeared with food. This time, he brought good news.

"Lindy managed to arrange a meeting with some important members of the academy," the officer said. "She told me the chances of your release are high. You'll probably be let out this afternoon to take a shower and change your clothes."

Damian, who had been close to breaking, finally felt a spark of relief in his body. He thanked the officer and tore into the lunch ravenously. It didn't taste good—but that didn't matter. He was just excited about what was finally happening.

In the afternoon, what that officer had said really happened. A group of guards came to take him out of the cell. Of course, he was being watched and was also handcuffed to make sure he wouldn't try to escape.

They took Damian to his dormitory, which had a bathroom for him to take a shower. There were other places he could have gone, but they wanted to send a message.

Those guards wanted everyone to see Damian! All the students, and even some teachers, watched as he was dragged through the academy, handcuffed.

In his dorm, Curt and Mitra were there. Actually, they were in the middle of a class, but when they heard that Damian had been taken out of the cell, they ran to try to see him or talk to him.

"Damian!"

"Damian!"

Both Curt and Mitra shouted his name, wanting to speak to him, but a group of guards stepped in and blocked them.

"No one is allowed to talk to him. If you do, expect severe punishment," one of the guards said.

They followed the guards' orders. After all, Damian had already been locked up—an innocent—and Curt and Mitra knew the guards could do the same to them if they got in the way.

Damian took a shower and put on the clothes the guards had given him. Then they led him to the academy's main building.

He was brought to the meeting room, a place normally reserved for the academy's top officials. A recruit like him would never normally be allowed inside.

Around a large round table sat several important figures. The headmaster, the person in charge of the academy, was there. Damian also saw officers—he even recognized the one who had seen him get beaten by the veterans that day—and Lindy with other professors.

Randal was there too, sitting next to Lindy. The two seemed to be whispering to each other.

"What are they talking about?" Damian wondered.

As soon as Damian arrived, he was placed in a chair separate from the table, in a spot where everyone could look directly at him. It felt like some kind of courtroom.

Then they closed the door. The meeting was about to begin.

The headmaster spoke first. "Damian, do you know why you're here today?"

Damian shook his head. "No, sir."

"Then I'll explain. You're here because even criminals have the right to speak. Of course, in my opinion, you should still be in that cell, but others think differently, and we want to make sure we have all the facts. Anyway, let's begin."

After that, the officers spoke. They laid out the "facts," explaining how they had found certain items among Damian's personal belongings. The items in question were supposedly letters indicating that Damian had been working with outsiders to spy on the academy.

Which was kind of funny, because he actually had been spying—but in this case, it was only meant to frame him and keep him locked up. After all, he and Lindy were getting close to uncovering what was really going on in the academy's underground.

Once the officers finished presenting their case, it was Damian's turn to speak.

"I was out on a mission with Professor Lindy for three days. What's stopping someone from planting this stuff in my things?"

The headmaster laughed. "And why would someone want to frame you, of all people—a new recruit?"

"That's for you to tell me, headmaster. Wasn't I the one beaten by the veterans while that officer," Damian pointed to one of the officials, "stood by and ignored it? He must have been paid well to look the other way."

The headmaster frowned. "Those are serious accusations. Do you have proof that he actually saw it happen? Or are you just making this up?"

Unfortunately, Damian didn't have proof. He had seen it, and that was all. The headmaster knew that well. The place where he had been beaten was carefully chosen—no cameras, no nearby guards. Everything had been meticulously planned.

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