The first finger breaks cleanly as the bone cutter closes, producing a distinct mechanical sound that echoes through the warehouse. Not loud and or cinematic, just the unmistakable fracture of bone under force. A concise fracture followed by a sharp intake of breath that Daniel can’t contain. He sucks in a breath, his body jerking forward instinctively, but Karp’s grip absorbs the motion and pushes him back into the chair.
Daniel’s teeth grind together. His forehead presses against the steel table. He exhales in short bursts, fighting the urge to vocalize.
Pain travels quickly through the nervous system. Shock follows if unmanaged. We prevent shock.
Mikel briefly releases pressure, allowing the blood flow to continue.
“Who authorized the attack?” I repeat.
Daniel lifts his head slowly, his eyes watering involuntarily. He blinks hard, attempting to regain his composure.
“No one,” he responds hoarsely. “Independent contract.”
He attempts to look bored. I nod once more. Mikel adjusts his grip and isolates the next finger. This time, Daniel anticipates it. His breathing accelerates. He attempts to twist his hand free, but the fracture comes faster.
The cry that follows is no longer restrained. It tears from his throat, echoing faintly off the steel walls before fading. Sweat now travels freely down his neck, soaking into the collar of his jacket. His chest rises and falls rapidly. He swallows, but his mouth has gone dry.
“Who authorized it?”
His eyes dart briefly toward the door, toward Leo, then back to me. He understands fully now that there is no exit.
“I got instructions,” he gasps. “Through a handler.”
“Name.”
His lips tremble once before he presses them together again. Pride fights survival.
Mikel’s fingers tighten around the broken joints.
“Wait!” Daniel blurts.
“Name,” I repeat.
“Victor Lansk,” he answers. “Freelance facilitator.”
I recognize the name immediately. Lansk positions himself between corporate security and underworld contracts. He profits from distance.
“Continue,” I instruct.
Daniel adjusts in the chair, his shoulders trembling now despite his effort to keep them under control. His breath comes in uneven pulls. The room smells faintly metallic from blood that seeps beneath his fingernails.
“We were told to keep it clean,” he says. “Control EMS routing. Get them to the right location. We were already waiting.”
“Objective.”
His eyes close briefly as another wave of pain radiates through his hand.
“Send a message.”
“To whom.”
He opens his eyes and meets mine.
“To the girl.”
The words don’t change my posture. Instead, they tighten something internal that he can’t see.
“Clarify.”
