A week, or perhaps a whole month—you had long since lost count of how long you'd been here. Time had lost all meaning, dissolving into a blur of repetitive days. The electric collar remained a cold, familiar weight on your neck. Fortunately, its direct use hadn't lasted long, but the chilling foreboding it evoked had etched itself deep within your memory. Strade had spared your life, and now you shared a dwelling with Ren and with him, in this strange, peculiar captivity that had become your new reality.

You seemed to have pleased Strade and garnered his sympathy, which, without a doubt, saved you from the worst. This realization offered a fragile comfort, yet it provided a faint, vital sliver of hope. Your life now was not so bad: at the very least, you were regularly fed and, most crucially, not tortured. It was the bare minimum, but in your current situation, it felt almost luxurious.

Ren was in the same predicament as you, and it was no easier for him. His fear of Strade was palpable: he obeyed him in everything and was afraid to resist, even in trivial matters. However, when you were alone, he transformed. He cared deeply for you and tried to offer solace, his quiet words and tentative touches being the sole expressions of true gentleness within this house.

Evening had fallen. You lay on the floor, on the soft carpet, feeling its pile beneath you, resting and simply observing the scene. The only sounds in the room emanated from the television, where Strade sat on the couch, completely engrossed in the screen, while Ren stood at the stove, meticulously preparing dinner, his movements swift and focused.