Alan's body finally sagged in the chair, veins standing out on his temples, chest heaving like a broken bellows. His last words hung in the sterile room, thick as poison.
Trevor's expression didn't move, but the violet of his eyes deepened until it looked like the light itself bent away from him. He straightened slowly, a man not rising from a chair but unfolding like judgment itself.
"Put him in a cell," Trevor ordered, his voice clipped and final. "He doesn't eat or sleep until every word comes out of his rotten mouth. If he so much as breathes in silence, break him."
The agent nodded sharply, two guards stepping forward to drag Alan's limp form away. The scrape of steel cuffs against tile echoed until the door shut, sealing the room back into its heavy stillness.
Windstone remained, clipboard hugged close to his chest, pale green eyes fixed on Trevor. He didn't dare to break the silence. The words were already written in the twist of his jaw, the faint tick at his temple.
