Let’s go home

"Do you feel it yet?" Logan's voice was low, dripping with malice. "That familiar fear crawling up your spine?"

Aria gritted her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Her wrists strained against the silver chains that bound her to the chair, the faint burn of the metal searing into her skin. She didn't scream. She wouldn't give him that, not this time.

Logan stepped closer, the heels of his polished boots echoing ominously in the dark, empty room. The air was cold, damp, and laced with the scent of mildew—a place far removed from Dante's protective reach. Logan leaned down, his face inches from hers, his smirk widening as he saw the defiance burning in her eyes.

"I wonder," he continued, running a finger along her jawline. "How long it'll take to break you this time. Or has Dante already cracked that stubborn streak of yours?"