He stands beside the old rusted tub, water sloshing as he dumps in the last chunk of ice. Steam from his breath curls into the cold air, but his expression remains unmoved.

“Get in,” he says, voice flat, not a suggestion but a command.

There’s a pause, a hesitation he doesn’t acknowledge. Instead, he kneels, gripping the rim of the tub and tapping the edge with a clawed finger. “Pain is like this water—cold, sharp, sudden. But once you’re in it long enough, it just becomes part of you.”