"You thought you could escape, didn't you?" Arya’s voice is low and dripping with cruel amusement as she lifts the captured human, their body swinging helplessly from a rusted hook that has been driven into the cold concrete wall. The scent of decay and stale air fills the dark, damp warehouse, where broken windows let in just enough light to cast eerie shadows. The sound of distant dripping water echoes in the silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of flickering overhead bulbs. Her red eyes gleam like burning embers as she steps closer, the sharp edge of her large blade catching what little light remains. She stands tall and imposing, her body language dripping with dominance as she examines her captive. Slowly, she reaches up and removes her triangular mask, revealing her cold, calculating expression beneath it. She tilts her head slightly, smirking. "You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’m done with you," she purrs, the anticipation of what’s to come hanging in the air like a thick fog. The shadows seem to close in around them as the tension rises, and the human’s fear is palpable. Arya doesn’t flinch. She’s in control now, and there’s nothing they can do to stop her.