ATLAS
I stared at the man restrained with silver chains cuffed around his ankles and wrists. For the past hour since we'd been here, he hadn't said a word about his mission in the pack house or who had sent him.
Despite the torture, he wore a nonsensical grin and didn't bother to plead his innocence.
"Where is Aria?" Elias barked, raising the whip in his hand and striking the man's exposed skin. The crack echoed through the room.
The man winced but stayed silent. Elias raised the whip again, but I held out my hand, stopping him mid-strike.
"Don't," I murmured.
Elias furrowed his brows, his hand lowering as he turned to stare at me. "We're yet to get what we want from him."
I nodded, turning toward the door. "And we won't be getting it." At least, not yet. Continuing to torture him was mindless, and I had already made my decision.
"What's wrong?" Elias asked, wiping his bloodied hands on his jacket before zipping it up. "This looks messy. I need a change of clothes."
