His presence coils through the room like smoke, thick and stifling. He doesn’t speak at first. He waits. Watches. Let’s the silence work its way under my skin, lets the water continue its quiet torment. The weight of his gaze is a physical thing, pressing down on me, suffocating in its intensity.
I grit my teeth, jaw tightening against the involuntary shiver that ripples through me. He sees it. He always sees it.
“You’re quiet,” he muses, voice smooth, amused. “I expected more from you, Aslanov.”
I say nothing. Refuse to give him what he wants.
He’s a sadist.
The corner of his mouth twitches, the ghost of a smirk. He steps closer, the air shifting with his movement. The scent of expensive cologne and faint cigarette smoke drifts into my lungs, an intrusion I cannot escape. “Did you know,” he continues, conversational, “this was once used to drive men to madness?No blades. No fire. Just a single drop of water, over and over again, until their minds broke apart at the seams.”
I inhale slowly, steadying myself against the next impact. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps.
Nick leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek. “I wonder,” he murmurs, “how long you’ll last.”
I feel it in my skull now, the way the water drills into me like it intends to carve through bone. My breathing shudders despite myself.
Nick notices.
His fingers trail along my arm, light, almost gentle, mocking. “You know,” he muses, “there’s something poetic about this. A man like you, so used to violence, to blood, to chaos. And yet, here you are, brought to the edge by something as simple as water.”
A sound escapes me before I can stop it, a small, fractured thing. A whimper. Weak.
He straightens, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket with absent care. “Tell me, Aslanov; where is Dominik?”
The name slides between us like a blade, cutting through the air, through what little composure I have left.
I say nothing. I focus on the steady burn in my shoulders, the ache in my spine, the sharp bite of leather digging into my wrists. I focus on the next drop, the inevitability of it, the way it carves into me with unrelenting patience.
Nick chuckles. “Still stubborn, then.” He steps away, his footsteps a lazy echo in the cavernous room. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Rumors are swirling, you know. Whispers that Dominik is struggling to keep the reins over the empire.”
I don’t react. I won’t.
He tuts softly. “Below him, everything is falling apart. Many men are turning away, easily bought.” He lets the words settle,a deliberate pause before the final cut. “Loyalty is such a fragile thing, isn’t it? You ruled with fear, but now that you’re gone, so is that fear.”
Something inside me coils tight. Dominik is the last pillar standing between order and absolute collapse. If he’s losing control, if men are turning against him, then the empire will crumble, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but blood and ruin.
Without warning, he steps closer to the dripping mechanism, his eyes never leaving me.
He raises his hand. The motion is deliberate, slow. Then, with a small turn of the knob, he increases the flow of water, making the drops faster, harder, more relentless.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Each strike feels sharper now, like tiny hammers chipping away at my skull, each impact landing with new force, quicker, forcing me to recoil against the restraints. My breath catches in my throat, lungs tightening as my chest rises and falls in frantic, uneven gasps. The world feels like it’s folding in on itself, my thoughts scattering, unraveling.
Nick watches with cold amusement, his eyes gleaming as he sees the panic begin to take root. The water doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease its assault.
I can’t focus. I can’t think. It’s like the water is drowning everything, my thoughts, my sense of time, even the voice in my head that tells me to stay silent.
“Where is Dominik, Aslanov?” Nick presses, his voice a smooth murmur, his breath brushing against my ear as he steps closer, just out of reach.
My heart stutters in my chest, a pounding drumbeat. I try to breathe through it, but the air feels too thin, too tight. I can’t keep up with the rhythm of it—the drip, drip, drip—each one louder, harder, faster than the last.
“I... I don’t know.” My voice cracks, barely a whisper as the panic bubbles up in my throat, threatening to choke me. I can feel the pressure building inside my skull, the water drilling into me, and I can’t stop it. I can’t make it stop.
Nick’s eyes narrow, studying me with something akin to curiosity, the slightest tilt of his head. “You don’t know?” he repeats, voice tinged with mock disbelief. “Really?”
I shake my head, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched against the storm inside me. “He... He’s always wandering.”
