The sound of footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floor as Kaidren followed just behind the man in the black tuxedo. The thick straps fastened around his right arm and leg pressed against his skin with a faint, unyielding weight—a subtle reminder of where he was and under whose scrutiny. The straps' small green lights pulsed in a steady rhythm, as if marking time with every step he took.
The corridor they were walking through was plain in a way that was almost clinical—smooth white walls, steel-framed lights overhead, and a faint scent of sterile air that made the space feel untouched by anything human. It wasn't luxurious, but it was immaculate, the kind of spotless environment where a speck of dust would feel like a crime.
