The damp air in the basement was oppressive, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of mildew. Oliver lay on the cold, hard floor, his body wracked with pain. His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one sending sharp stabs through his broken ribs.
Across from him, Thierry slumped against the bars of his cell. His face was battered, his once-pristine suit reduced to torn, blood-stained rags. Yet, despite his beaten appearance, Thierry’s piercing eyes still held a spark of defiance.
“You finally came to,” Thierry rasped, his voice hoarse and dry.
Oliver turned his head slowly, groaning as his neck protested the movement. “Thierry?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“The one and only,” Thierry said, managing a bitter smirk despite the dried blood caking his lips.
