'The Torch'

A few more hours had passed—at least, Florian assumed so. The concept of time felt meaningless in a room where the only markers of its passage were the dim torches flickering against stone walls. He had no way of knowing if it was day or night, and Charles, Arthur, or even Levi hadn't returned since earlier.

Left with nothing but his thoughts, Florian lay on the scratchy hay bed, staring up at the ceiling coated in dust and cobwebs. He refused to let himself fall asleep. Twice now, his dreams had been plagued by nightmarish flashes of the original Florian—of his suffering, of his assault. That alone was enough to keep him awake, but his mind was already a storm of restless thoughts.

Escape. The boss. How far he was willing to go to 'seduce' Charles and Arthur. And when he did—how far he was truly willing to go.