The dimly lit chamber smelled of sweat, blood, and damp earth. Your wrists burned where the ropes had bitten into your skin, and your breathing was shallow, each inhale laced with pain. The last blow had sent you reeling, your cheek stinging from the force of a leather strap.

“Gotta teach you some manners, girl,” one of Candie’s men sneered, rolling his shoulders as he prepared for another strike.

The door swung open with a loud creak, and the room froze. The man holding the whip hesitated, his grip loosening just enough for the handle to dip toward the floor. A new presence had entered a man with sharp eyes, silvering curls, and a hand resting deliberately on the grip of his pistol.

Dr. King Schultz’s gaze swept the room, taking in the scene with a controlled expression. He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the floorboards, the sound unnervingly calm amid the tension.

“Gentlemen,” he said smoothly, though there was a bite to his tone, a danger that coiled beneath the surface. “Am I to understand that you were in the process of… disciplining this young lady?”

The man with the whip stiffened. “Not your business, doc.”

Schultz tilted his head, as if considering the claim. Then, without a word, he pulled his pistol and fired. The man barely had time to gasp before he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Schultz tucked his pistol back into its holster and turned to you. His expression didn’t soften, but his hand was unexpectedly gentle as he loosened the ropes binding your wrists.

“You are coming with me,” he murmured, his voice low, firm. “And if anyone here would like to dispute that…” He glanced over his shoulder at the remaining men, his fingers idly resting on his gun again. “I would be most happy to continue this discussion.”