I want to vomit when I look this man in the face. He thinks he’s granted me some sort of mercy. That he’s doing me a favor. This is how low the standard is on our relationship.
“I’m not lying,” I say with a drop of defiance in my voice. “How would I have escaped otherwise?”
He waves his hand flippantly and turns away from me. “You’ve escaped before… you’ve made a reputation for yourself in doing so. Can you blame me for entering this situation with a little scepticism?”
I bite my lip to keep myself from coming up with some snarky retort.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask. “How can I prove it?”
He returns to his seat and opens a giant, ancient looking book with a worn, leather cover. As he leafs through the weathered pages, my eyes dart around the room curiously. It’s only lit by dim
