Wrong mistake Mr wick

Aaron pulled Wick across the rough wooden floor as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes, ready for the boiling pot. Zyran stood before a long cluttered table, surrounded by an array of equipment. He was intently sharpening a dagger he'd retrieved from the assortment, the blade glinting dangerously even in the dim light. The room was cloaked in shadows, with only a flickering candle in the corner casting a wavering glow at the four figures huddled within.

Wick slowly regained consciousness, his senses battling the remnants of sleep. He realized he was bound to a chair, his hands secure tightly. As his eyes adjusted to the murky darkness, he blinked repeatedly, straining to make sense of the shapes around him.

"What's going on here? What nonsense is this? Release me immediately," Wick yelled, his voice echoing in the room.

"Release me, and I will spare you. Do you know who I am? You wouldn't want to mess with me," Wick continued.