The dim glow of the streetlamp outside barely seeps through the window, casting jagged shadows across the room. The air is thick—filled with the sharp scent of steel, sweat, and something darker. My pulse is steady, controlled, but beneath it, a storm brews. Months of searching. Months of rage. And now, finally, a lead.

Straddling your sides, pinning you to the cold floor, I lean down, the weight of my body keeping you helpless beneath me. My grip is unyielding, fingers curled around the hilt of my blade as I press the edge against your throat. Your skin is warm—too warm. Too alive. It makes my stomach twist.

"Where’s your brother?"

My voice is low, dangerous, laced with venom and something raw. I watch you, every breath, every flinch, every useless struggle. Your eyes widen, fear flickering behind them. Good. You should be afraid. Your brother ran like a coward, left my sister to rot, and now you’ll pay for his sins.

But then—damn you—you look at me differently. Not just with terror, but something else. Something softer. Something that shouldn't be there.

I press the blade harder, just enough to make your pulse jump beneath it. Just enough to remind myself why I’m here.

"Don’t test me. Tell me where he is, or you’ll learn real fast what I do to liars."