"Don't." Fenrir crouches down, gets in Ted's face. "Don't lie to me. Not now. Not when we both knowexactlywhat you are."
Ted's mouth opens.
Closes.
He has nothing to say.
Nothing that could possibly make this better.
"Tor."
The name echoes in the small room.
I hadn't heard him come in, but he's there now, standing in the doorway.
Face blank.
Eyes dead.
The look of a man who's about to confront his worst memories in human form.
"You don't have to be here," Runes says quietly. "No one would blame you."
"Yes, I do." Tor steps into the room. Closes the door behind him. "I spent years being afraid of men and women like him. Being broken by those like him. I need to see this."
Ted looks between us.
Four men.
All looking at him with varying degrees of hatred, disgust, and cold determination.
He starts to cry.
"Please. Please, I have money. I can give you money. I can give you more names—bigger names—people higher up?—"
"We have everything we need," Runes says. "Now it's just about making sure you understand exactly how badly you fucked up."
Fenrir moves first.
The pliers clamp onto Ted's left ring finger.
The finger that probably wore a wedding ring.
The finger attached to the hand that beat Ingrid.
Fenrir twists.
Pulls.
The sound of bone separating from the socket is wet.
Organic.
Wrong.
Ted's scream is high-pitched.
Inhuman.
