The mercenary's smile never reached his eyes as he gestured off-camera. Two operatives dragged Louis closer to the lens, forcing her to her knees. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back, her face bruised along the left cheekbone, but her eyes—those brilliant eyes that had first captivated Ral in a crowded newsroom—burned with defiant fury rather than fear.
"As you see, your wife is unharmed," the mercenary stated. "Relatively speaking."
"Louis," Ral breathed, his fingers white-knuckled against the tablet's edge. "Are you—"
"Don't do it, Ral," Louis interrupted, her journalist's voice cutting through the connection with steel-edged clarity. "Whatever they're asking, don't give them anything. I'm not worth—"
The mercenary's backhand was casual, almost lazy, but the force snapped Louis's
