Fear.
Good.
“Which prisoner reacted first?” I ask.
A tablet is placed in my hand. Video footage scrolls—grainy, infrared, multiple cells flickering past.
Then I see it.
A man jerking against his chains. Head lifting. Mouth moving.
Cal.
“Bring him,” I say.
The punishment chamberis not large.
It does not need to be.
Cal is dragged in by four guards, barely conscious, wrists still shackled above his head. Blood streaks down his arms, pooling on the floor beneath him.
He looks up when he hears my boots.
Recognition flickers.
Defiance tries to rise.
I admire that.
Briefly.
“You heard something,” I say conversationally.
His lips part. No sound comes out.
I gesture.
A guard slams his baton into Cal’s ribs.
Once.
Twice.
Cal gasps, choking, but still says nothing.
I crouch in front of him, meeting his gaze.
“You are not strong because you endure pain,” I tell him gently. “You are strong only because I allow you to be.”
His eyes burn with hate.
Ah. There it is.
“I will ask you once,” I continue. “What did you hear?”
Silence.
I straighten and nod.
