A glint of metal in the dim light.
A knife.
The sound of the blade sliding free was deceptively soft, a whisper of menace that sent my stomach plummeting.
He held it easily as if it were simply an extension of himself, the razor edge catching the faint flicker of light as he methodically turned it between his fingers.
“Do you know what this is for?”
His voice was a silken promise of pain, laced with the weight of cold, calculated intent.
I said nothing.
I could say nothing.
His fingers traced the blade’s edge, his grip relaxed, yet nothing was casual about the threat curling between us.
“I won’t hesitate to use it.”
A simple statement.
A fact.
“If I have to.”
He stepped closer, the blade glinting between us, a quiet, insidious reminder of the violence he was capable of.
“There are far more...”
He tilted his head, watching me, studying me as if trying to decipher a puzzle that refused to yield its secrets.
“Effective methods than death to get answers.”
The dungeon’s chill coiled around me, pressing into my skin and bones, making me shudder beneath its weight.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whispered, my voice a fragile thread in the oppressive silence.
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone in France.It was an experiment...gone wrong.”
His expression did not change.
His eyes—cold, unflinching—remained fixed on mine as though peering straight through my soul.
“Then tell me what you know.”
His voice was forged of steel, every word a blade, every breath a sentence—as unforgiving as the stones that trapped me in this hell.
I faltered, the weight of my predicament crushing me.
He did not like hesitation.
With one swift motion, he slashed the air, the blade flashing dangerously close to my face—a warning, a threat wrapped in the silent, deadly display.
“Do you want me to hurt you?”
The snarl in his voice sent a violent tremor through my body.
The blade hovered—just inches from my throat, its deadly promise taunting my skin.
