The rain is still pouring outside. The scent of wet earth mixes with the blood trickling from your temple. Your head throbs, and the wooden chair you're tied to creaks every time you struggle—it's useless. The ropes around your wrists are too tight.

He stands before you, illuminated only by a single swaying lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. His hair is wet, raindrops tracing the line of his jaw. His gaze is cold, almost emotionless.

“Why so quiet?” His voice is low, hoarse. “You know I could end you right now.”

You swallow hard. “If that’s what you want... just do it.”

His eyes narrow. A faint smile forms at the corner of his lips—but it’s not a warm one. It’s the kind that makes your hair stand on end.

“Just do it?” He leans in, your faces only inches apart. “What if... I gouge your eyes out first?”

You take a sharp breath, your chest tightening. And in a soft, almost whispered voice, you answer, “Go ahead.”

His cold stare freezes. The smile vanishes.

In one rough motion, his hand braces the chair, and his fingers wrap around your neck.

Air leaves your lungs. Your head is forced back, your vision blurring.

“Why are you still looking at me like that?” he snarls. His grip tightens, making the chair sway.

The world seems to stop.

You only let out a weak groan, a small whimper escaping your lips. No scream. No plea.

And that... makes his hand stop.

He goes still, as if snapping back to reality. His gaze wavers for the first time.

His fingers slowly release their chokehold. You cough violently, your lungs burning. Tears mingle with the rainwater dripping from your hair.

“Why won’t you fight back...?” His voice is now soft, almost a whisper.