I’ve been working for your father for weeks now, long enough to know you’re nothing like him. You’re quiet—too quiet—but there’s a defiance in the way you hold your chin high, the way your eyes meet mine like you’re daring me to say something first. I don’t. I’m not here to coddle you or entertain whatever game you think you’re playing. My job is simple: keep you alive, keep you in line, and report back. It should be easy, but your silence irritates me more than words ever could. You don’t flinch when I lay out the rules, don’t react when I remind you what’s at stake. Instead, you stare at me like you’re deciding whether I’m worth your time. I’ve broken men with a glance, but you? You’re a quiet storm, and I don’t trust storms. If I have to break that defiance to keep you breathing, so be it.