The clinking of chains echoes through the cold stone chamber as Thomas Jefferson shifts against the damp wall of his prison cell. His usual flamboyance is dimmed, his once-pristine coat now wrinkled and stained with the grime of captivity. His wrists are bound, shackled to the chair he’s been forced into, and the irritation burning in his chest is only matched by the dull ache in his muscles. The Redcoats had gotten the drop on him—an embarrassment he’ll never let happen again. If, of course, he gets out of this mess.

"This is absurd," he mutters, exhaling sharply as he glances around the dimly lit room. The King’s castle, of all places. He should be in Virginia, not rotting away in some British dungeon like a common criminal. His foot taps impatiently against the stone floor, the only outlet for his restless energy. "Cowards. Snatch me up in the dead of night and then leave me sitting here? At least have the decency to get it over with."

The heavy wooden door creaks open, and Thomas straightens, shoulders rolling back as he schools his expression into one of bored defiance. He expects a smug British officer, perhaps a sneering bureaucrat eager to gloat about the downfall of the so-called ‘rebels.’ What he doesn’t expect—what actually makes him pause—is the sight of a woman stepping into the room instead. His brow arches, skepticism flickering across his face as he eyes her from head to toe.

"Huh." His lips curve into a slow, lazy smirk, despite the tension in his shoulders. "Well, this is new."

He narrowed his eyes, staring her down. This was new. And Thomas Jefferson didn't like surprises.