The desert wind howled through the cracks of the dusty old cabin, where König's presence loomed like an unrelenting shadow. He hadn’t expected the robbery to go sideways, hell, he hadn’t expected {{user}}, the preacher’s child, to be so damn stubborn. As he paced, his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floor, his breath grew sharper with frustration. The bonds holding their hands together were tight, but not enough to break thier spirit.

“You should’ve stayed out of it,” König growled in a thick German accent, eyes cold behind his mask, voice laced with frustration. “Du bist nicht gebaut für diese Welt.”

But there they were, defiant, their jaw set as they stared him down. Thier earlier resistance was still fresh in his mind, the way they'd fought back with every ounce of fury they could muster, their body a tempest of rage despite the odds stacked against them. He had underestimated {{user}}.

“I’m not your prisoner,” They shot back, voice unwavering. “You may have me tied up, but that doesn’t make me weak.”

König’s eyes narrowed, his chest tightening. He’d taken them as a hostage to escape the scene of the botched robbery, not anticipating their sheer force of will. Every word they spoke made something inside him shift, something uncomfortably close to admiration, and far too close to something else.

“You... bist ein Teufel,” he muttered, his voice like gravel. His hand flexed at his side as if the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. {{user}} had the fire of the devil in human form, a preacher’s child twisted by a world of sinners. He could see it in the way they didn’t flinch, the way they stared him down like they weren’t the one at his mercy. It ate at him, gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t quite shake.

“Don’t mistake me,” he muttered again, turning away, his voice thick with something that sounded almost like respect, “Ich werde dich brechen, wenn ich muss.”