Lee’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and demanding. “Answer me! Is your father a Timehunter?”
“No!” Tristan thrashed against his restraints. “My father’s not a Timehunter.”
Lee didn’t back down. “Then what is he? Who is he?”
Tristan’s lips cracked and stained with dried blood, pressed together in stubborn silence.
I clasped my hands behind my back and resumed my circling. “I’m a patient man, Tristan,” I said. “I can wait you out. Sooner or later, you’ll feel the urge to eat, drink… maybe even piss.” I tilted my head. “And when that moment comes, I’ll still be here. We’ve got nothing but time.”
The irony of the statement didn’t escape me. I had all the time in the world.
Jack and Lee remained silent, letting the weight of my words settle in. I continued my revolutions around Tristan, allowing the anticipation to build. Then, after a few more passes, I stopped before him.
I drew my dagger from its sheath. The blade caught the dim light, gleaming like the promise of pain.
I tapped the tip against my palm. The quiet click of metal against skin filled the basement.
Tristan’s breath hitched.
“You’re going to tell me who your father is, Tristan.”
I traced the shell of his ear with the tip of my blade, the metal whispering against his skin.
Lee and Jack exchanged a glance.
“Roman,” Jack said cautiously, “remember there are different rules now.”
Tristan flinched, trying to pull away.
“Did I get the wrong ear?” I murmured, then seized his hair and carved a swirl into the opposite one.
Tristan howled, his body jerking against the restraints.
“Roman!” Jack snapped.
Lee placed a firm hand on Jack’s arm. “Let him handle this in a way that makes sense to him.”
Jack’s jaw tensed. “We could be arrested for this.”
I ignored them both, focusing on Tristan, who trembled beneath my grasp.
“Better?” I asked, my voice devoid of sympathy.
Tristan’s head jerked side to side in rapid, erratic movements, like a rattlesnake’s tail shake.
“N-n-no,” he stammered, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
I stepped before him and tilted my blade to his lips, tracing a mocking smile along his mouth.
Tristan’s scream ripped through the basement. “Stop!”
Thick drops of blood beaded and fell from his chin, spattering onto his lap.
“Then tell me who your father is,” I insisted.
Lee leaned in slightly. “You should talk, Tristan. He’s not bluffing when he says he’s patient.”
I lifted the blade to his brow, angling it toward his eyebrow, preparing to carve it into a devilish point.
