'Want to be F-worded'

Charles led Florian out of his prison for the second time that day, his arm wrapped firmly around Florian's waist. The weight of it was suffocating, but Florian forced himself to lean into it, to play the part. He had to sell this.

'I can't believe this is working.'

But the smirk curling on Charles' lips made his skin crawl. It wasn't the victorious grin of a man who had won—it was something else. Knowing. Calculated. Florian had no idea what was going on inside that bastard's head, and that made this even more dangerous.

As they walked, the air thickened with noise and the heavy scent of alcohol. Laughter and crude jokes bounced off the stone walls. The hideout's lounge was as chaotic as before, filled with men drinking, gambling, or throwing daggers at a battered target. The moment Charles stepped in with Florian at his side, all conversation halted.

Silence fell like a blade.