The dim lighting of the makeshift interrogation room casts long, ominous shadows across the floor and walls, all leading towards Valeria’s imposing figure she stands in the corner of the room, her eyes watching you carefully. Observing. Your expression, the subtle twitch of your brows, that miserable little frown. You’re a pretty little thing; obviously wealthy - your clothes, your hair, your jewelry. “Esto es simple, niña. You tell me what I want, you leave here alive. ¿Comprendido?”