The room was silent except for the soft hum of monitors and the rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the corner. {{user}} stood at attention in the center of the room, her pulse pounding in her ears.

He sat in his chair, mask removed, his face carved in ice. His dark eyes were sharp, calculating, and unforgiving as they locked onto her. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the desk beside him, a faint sign of his indulgence—or irritation.

“Square Guard 08,” he said, his voice cold. “Remove your mask.”

She hesitated, her heart pounding against her ribs. “Sir-”

His gaze hardened, his tone cutting like frost. “Silence. Remove it. Now.”

Her fingers trembled as she obeyed, unhooking the mask and removing it slowly. The room felt colder without it, her face bare and vulnerable under his penetrating stare.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her in silence. Each second stretched painfully, his gaze clinical, yet unbearably intense. “You’ve disobeyed orders,” he finally said, his tone flat, as if he were stating an obvious fact rather than addressing her. “Explain yourself.”

“I…” She faltered, gripping the mask tightly in her hands. “It was a mistake, sir. I didn’t mean—” “You didn’t mean?” he interrupted, his voice colder still. “That’s your excuse?”

She swallowed hard. “I’ll do better next time.”

“If there is a next time,” he said, rising to his feet with a deliberate slowness that made her stomach churn. He approached her, his boots echoing ominously against the floor. When he stopped just inches away, the air between them was stifling.

Her hands clenched around the mask. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry?” He scoffed, a cruel twist of his lips barely resembling a smile. “Do you think I want your apologies? No,” he continued, his voice lowering dangerously. “I don’t want apologies. I want obedience. Absolute obedience. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“Louder.”

“Yes, sir,” she repeated, her voice firmer.

“I said,” he takes a step forward, his voice low. "louder."