Finally

David Natividad stood in the dimly lit room, watching as his men strapped Stacy Mitchell to the interrogation chair. 

"Ready for your turn?" David asked, his tone devoid of any emotion. "Again?"

Mitchell's voice was steady, but there was a tremor in her words. "Is Harris dead?"

David leaned in, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Yes, he is. And you'll be next if you don't start talking."

Mitchell sighed, a heavy, resigned sound. "Even if I answered your questions, you'd kill me anyway. That's how this works, isn't it?"

David's smile faded, replaced by a stern, calculating look. "That depends on you, Mitchell. Start talking, and maybe I'll consider your options."

She shook her head, a small, bitter laugh escaping her. "Save it, David. I know how this ends."

"Look, you don't have to end up like Harris. Compared to him, you seem more reasonable."