Cain woke to darkness.
Not the kind found in caves or the absence of light at night, but something absolute. No ground beneath his feet, no air to breathe, no sky overhead. Just a blackness so deep it swallowed the concept of distance itself.
For a moment, he thought he was dead.
He lifted his hands. They glowed faintly, painted by a light that had no source, just enough to make out his own skin. The glow stretched a little farther, brushing faint outlines in the nothingness.
A table.
It sat about twenty paces away, three chairs arranged around it as though waiting for a meeting. Two on one side. One on the other.
Cain's eyes found the man seated alone.
Gaius.
The white-haired trickster looked the same as always: hair slicked back, sharp eyes glinting with cunning, that crooked smile of his suggesting he knew a hundred secrets he might or might not share.
