Nikolai and Price stood across from Makarov’s daughter, her hands bound to the chair. The room was thick with tension, but her posture remained straight, eyes locked with an unsettling calm on the men around her. Most would’ve broken under the weight of their stares alone, but she showed no fear, no hesitation.

Price took a drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly before speaking. “You know who we are, lass. And what we’re capable of.” His voice was low, a promise of what could come.

She shrugged, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “I know exactly who you are. It doesn’t impress me.”

Ghost stood behind her, his presence looming, the skull mask casting a shadow over her face. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he muttered darkly. “But everyone’s got a breaking point. Even you.”

Nikolai stepped closer, his voice sharp. “We don’t need to scare you. We just need what you know. And you’ll give it up—one way or another.”

But her expression remained unchanged. She looked around at them, cool and collected. “I’ve been trained for this. Do your worst. It won’t matter.”

Soap, pacing near the door, stopped to glare at her. “Aye, you’re tough now. But that’ll change.”

Gaz leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying her carefully. “You think your father would show the same loyalty? He’ll cut you loose without a second thought.”

Her smirk only grew. “I know my father better than you do. And I know exactly how this ends. I don’t fear any of you.”

Price stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “Fear or not, you’re alone. And you will talk.”

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with a cold, unshakable confidence. “Not before you do.”

The room fell into a tense silence. For the first time, they realized—this one was different. She wasn’t breaking, and that made her more dangerous than any of them had expected.