He stared at the corpses of his men, his voice cracking as he whispered, "Too late. All too late."
He sat back in the cage, shaking, unsure of what fate awaited him. Whatever it was, he doubted it would be mercy.
The cage creaked faintly as Kenji shifted, sitting upright, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. His amber eyes darted from one kobold to another, judging, weighing. He was a foxkin, after all — deception was second nature.
Orkesh folded his arms, watching quietly, letting the silence stretch until it pressed against the prisoner like a vice. Finally, he said, voice even, "Tell us why you're here."
Kenji forced a smirk, though it faltered around the edges. "Why am I here? Maybe I just stumbled in. Maybe I wanted to shop at this so-called market of yours."
Misha scoffed. "Shop? With fifty armed men at your back? Don't mock us."
Kenji's ears twitched. "You call it mocking. I call it… trade negotiations."
