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It isn’t the first time Ezra’s been caught, though he certainly hopes it’ll be the last.
It is, however, the first time they’ve bothered to bind his hands.
They’re shackled to the wall behind and above him, just high enough to keep him from sitting down completely. He realized fairly early on that they were set at the right height for an adult’s wrists, not those of an underfed teenager.
And now his shoulders and calves are beginning to feel the results of that.
He shifts again, wincing though part of him cries out in relief at the suddenly-absent pressure. Ezra bites his lip, weakly flexing his wrists against the restraints and glancing around the cell once more. At thirteen, this is also the first time he’s been captured while old enough to toss into one of the general adult cells, but some higher-up gave the other guards orders against it—and he’s not sure he wants to find out why. He’s heard about the strange desires of some of the Imperial officials—rumors like that travel fast—and even experienced the occasional leer from someone out on the streets himself, though somehow this feels different.
More dangerous, if he can make himself believe it.
At some point, the door opens.
A silhouetted figure stands in its threshold, and Ezra closes his eyes and turns his head away in an attempt to avoid the light. It doesn’t work, however, and his head still begins to throb. Groaning internally, he opens his eyes and tries to keep his attention focused on the still-dark floor.
“Is this him?” the figure turns to call over their shoulder. There’s a silent answer before they turn back to Ezra and enter the cell. Without knowing why, he flinches back further against the wall. The figure chuckles.
“Are you the famed thief of the upper city?”
“Didn’t know I had a name now,” is all Ezra mutters in reply. He can sense the figure’s smirk.
“Oh, you do, boy. You most certainly do.”
He resists the urge to shift again. “Why are you here?”
“I need you for something.”
“Need me? I’m a street rat.” Better to insult himself in the hopes of turning the intruder’s attention away from him than try to preserve any shred of pride he still has.
“Oh, you are not just a street rat,” they chuckle.
As he hears them come closer, Ezra‘s stomach drops.