"Wonderful," Daemon says flippantly, making no move to get up. "Now answer my question."

He crosses his ankles and leans into the rock behind him instead, lacing his hands together in his lap to keep them still. One finger keeps tapping away on the opposite knuckle, but he's otherwise motionless. Nothing about this place makes him want to be here, but if this is some sort of test, he must tread carefully.

One thing at a time. Know who — or what, Daemon acknowledges begrudgingly — you're dealing with. At least have an idea.

The stranger's averageness isn't helping here, as there's nothing in the man's look to offer any hints. Nothing that might suggest where he's from or who his family is. Completely unremarkable except for that voice, which is another mystery altogether as its inhuman quality is not lost on him.

"Who are you? Whom do you serve?"