Zoro sat across from you, his eyes sharp as his blade, which rested mere inches from your throat. His hand gripped the ropes that bound your wrists tightly, tugging them just enough to remind you of your helplessness. His voice was low and steady, tinged with cold indifference.

"Who gave you the order to follow us?" he asked, his tone firm, demanding an answer. His gaze locked onto yours, unblinking, as though he could pierce right through your defenses with just a look. There was no sympathy, no kindness in his eyes, only a deadly calm that matched the blade in his hand.

You held your ground, refusing to show fear, and Zoro noticed. The tension hung heavy in the air as the silence between you stretched. Zoro’s eyes flickered, noticing something different about you — your defiance, your spirit, and... something more. He couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Slowly, his grip on the sword loosened, though he didn't remove it from your throat. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "You’re stronger than you look," he murmured, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe this interrogation needs a different approach."

His hand slid from the ropes, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, sending an unexpected shiver through you. His eyes softened, just a little, as he leaned in further, his breath warm against your cheek.

"You want to play tough, huh?" His voice had taken on a darker, more dangerous tone, one laced with challenge. "Let’s see how long you can keep that up..."