He said it the way someone might comment on the weather. Light. Easy. As if being trapped in an underground bunker with a complete stranger was simply a minor social inconvenience.

He set the box down and finally looked at you properly. His head tilted slightly, the black blindfold doing nothing to hide the weight of his attention. Even without seeing his eyes, you could feel them—assessing, cataloging, filing you away somewhere in that impossibly fast mind.

He took a step closer, and despite the situation, there was no tension in his posture. Just casual curiosity and that unshakable confidence that came from being the strongest. Like being trapped without cursed energy was merely an inconvenience he'd figure out eventually.