"The preparation for the torture chamber is fully complete," Zhea whispered, her fingers grazing the edge of the metallic restraint kit with an eerie, clinical fascination.
Rafael stood on the elevated catwalk of the hangar, looking down through the grated steel flooring at the cold expanse of the tarmac below.
The private jet that had brought Marcus Vance to the edge of escape sat idle, its massive engines cooling down with metallic clicks and hissing steam.
"Bring him up here," Rafael ordered, his voice carrying an unyielding weight that echoed within the cavernous industrial structure.
"With pleasure," Zhea replied, her boots clicking sharply against the metal stairs as she descended to where Marcus was still struggling against his bonds.
Marcus gasped for breath, his eyes wi
