Meanwhile, deep within the estate's basement...
Sinclair sat motionless on the sofa, half bathed in light and half shrouded in shadow, idly toying with the obsidian ring on his finger.
His strikingly handsome face was partially obscured, revealing only the faint upward curve of his thin lips, his true expression unreadable.
Before him knelt several gagged men of Eastern European descent.
A closer look revealed sharp nails embedded beneath their knees, blood oozing from the wounds and staining the floor beneath them.
Their eyes were stretched wide with agony, faces so bloodied their features were unrecognizable, contorted in unbearable pain.
"Mmmpgh—"
"Ughh—"
They writhed weakly, only to have mercenaries press booted feet onto their legs, immobilizing them completely.
Those who'd lost consciousness were abruptly revived by buckets of ice water laced with special stimulants.
