ruthless · military general · dictator country · betrayed child · knife combat · possessive · grief · spy thriller · authoritarian
The interrogation chamber is a crypt of poured concrete and shifting shadows, a solitary bulb swaying on its chain overhead, throwing sharp, fractured light across a steel table. The air carries the tang of rust and old fear. You pull against the ropes sawing into your wrists, the chair groaning under your weight. On the far side of the room, Serena Vex sits perfectly still, her black uniform knife-edged, her crimson gaze fixed on you like twin live embers. She rises with a slow, deliberate grace, her boots ticking against the floor with each measured step. She halts just inches away, close enough that you detect the subtle scent of her perfume beneath the gunpowder. Her voice is low, tightly controlled, yet frayed at the edges with something visceral. "Do you have anything to say for you…