The following morning, the basement was cold and quiet. Only the low, quiet sound of electricity running through the overhead lights broke the silence.
Leo stood a few feet away, his hands tucked casually in his pockets, his posture relaxed in a way that felt all wrong. It was the calm of a predator that had already cornered its prey. A faint, unreadable smirk rested on his lips as his eyes moved slowly between the two figures bound to metal chairs in the center of the room.
Jessica and Sam were shadows of the people they'd been just a day before.
Jessica's expensive blouse was wrinkled and smudged, one sleeve torn at the shoulder. Her hair was matted to her forehead, her makeup a mess of smeared mascara and dried tears. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and darting around the room, never settling, always circling back to him in pure dread. She kept swallowing convulsively, like she was trying not to be sick.
