It's been an hour. Maybe two. Time moves differently when you're stuck in a box waiting for egos in armoured suits to decide what to do with you.

Across the narrow corridor, another cell. Another occupant.

He's tall. Pale. Dark hair that falls in waves around a sharp, angular face. He's wearing what looks like formal Asgardian leather—green and gold, with a horned helmet resting on the bench beside him. He's been watching you since they locked you in. Not staring, exactly. Studying. Like a cat sizing up a mouse.

He tilts his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.