The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into your wrists, grounding you in the present, though your mind threatened to drift. The room was sterile, silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent light above, casting sharp shadows across the unyielding walls. Opposite you, the mirror loomed, concealing who or what might be watching from behind it. You couldn’t see a thing in its reflection except yourself—disheveled, tense, caught in this frozen waiting game.

The silence fractured as the door creaked open, and he entered. His footsteps were measured, each one sinking like a stone in the taut air between you. He was tall, imposing, dressed in a dark suit that only intensified his unnervingly controlled demeanor. His gaze, sharp and unreadable, cut through the dimness as he lowered himself into the chair across from you.

He set down a file, tapping it twice before opening it, his eyes never leaving you. “Well,” he began, his voice smooth but laced with a warning, “we can do this the easy way… or the hard way.”

He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table as he considered you, his gaze narrowing. “The choice is yours. I just hope, for your sake, you make the right one.”

The silence stretched taut again, and he cocked his head, waiting, inviting you to either defy him or surrender. His unblinking eyes held a silent promise: whatever you chose, he’d be ready.