All that is dark | ✓

The air in the director’s office was thick with a nervous anticipation that seemed to cling to the grey walls. Helene Amsel, impeccably composed despite the oppressive atmosphere of Brooksville Penitentiary, regarded the fidgeting director with an almost clinical curiosity. He was rambling, a torrent of words about pressure and expectation, all circling back to one name.

“Nathan Parker,” she mused, the name a chilling whisper on her lips, a name that had consumed headlines and haunted nightmares. She had seen his face on every news channel, that unsettlingly bored smile as he was dragged into a police car, a stark contrast to the terror he had wrought.

“The devil himself,” the director shivered, confirming the weight of the task. Helene felt a familiar surge of curiosity, a sharp counterpoint to the numbing fatigue that had settled deep in her bones from a life spent perfecting every breath and performance.

This wasn't just a job; it was a challenge, a foray into the heart of darkness she felt compelled to understand. Perhaps, she thought, it was the only way to feel anything at all.