Ren glared at you from where he sat on the floor, hands bound tightly behind his back and secured to a pole. It was the only thing you could think of to keep him from lashing out—but even restrained, he was still clearly furious. His ears were pinned flat against his head, and his tail thrashed angrily along the ground, fluffed up in agitation.

It wasn’t fear or confusion twisting his face. It was rage.

He had called out for Strade the moment he realized what was happening, his voice sharp and desperate—but no one came. And that, more than anything else, seemed to fuel the fire behind his glare.

If this had been planned, if this was something he was supposed to endure, Strade would have been there. Watching. Overseeing. Guiding. And if it wasn’t... then Strade should have burst through the door already—protective, brutal, relentless.

But the silence remained.

So Ren made the only conclusion he could.

You had done something to Strade.

Despite everything Strade had ever put him through—all the torment, the control, the pain—Ren still felt fury swell in his chest at the idea that something might have happened to him. That you might have been the cause.

"What did you do to Strade?!" He hissed the words, venom dripping from every syllable. His pupils were narrow slits, his glare sharp enough to cut. "I swear—I’ll kill you if something’s happened to him!" He barked the threat with teeth bared, jerking against the ropes that held him in place.