“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admitted.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stepped past me, crowding into my space just enough to reach the handle. His fingers closed around it, turning. The door creaked open, revealing a long staircase that disappeared into darkness below.
“Come find out,” he murmured against my ear.
Then he was already moving, descending the steps without waiting to see if I followed.
I stood there for a beat, my pulse quickening, the prior memory of descending those stairs filled with fear, but something else took root alongside it.
Excitement.
After a brief, silent argument with myself, I followed.
Each step down felt different than the last time. The same space, the same narrow walls, the same darkness waiting at the bottom… but it didn’t feel remotely similar.
Not anymore.
Silas reached the bottom first and flicked on the light. The workshop came into view, every surface clean and shiny, everymetal tool glistening, exactly where it belonged.
“Sit,” he said, not turning around, his attention alreadyshifting to the workbench.
A single chair sat in the center of the room. The same chair they had once restrained me to, ready to torture me for intel.
I perched on the edge of it as he moved with quiet efficiency, gathering tools and arranging them onto a metal tray. The wheels rattled softly as he pushed it toward me, stopping just within reach.
My pulse quickened.
Zip ties. A hammer. A small handheld saw. A knife. More tools I didn’t recognize at first glance.
Then I saw it.
The screwdriver.
My gaze lingered on it a second too long.
Silas caught it and let out an amused chuckle. “You’re already an expert with that one,” he said. “But I think we’ll start smaller.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, a flicker of irritation pushing past the nerves.
He didn’t react.
“You’re part of this unit now,” he continued, his tone shifting, more serious. “And interrogation is a key part of what we do. How we extract information.”
He paused, his eyes hardening slightly as they met mine.
“But for you and me… it’s more than a job.”
The words settled heavily.
“We use this to steady ourselves. To quiet what’s lurking deep.”
I held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.
A soft smile ghosted across his mouth, warm with quiet approval.
“Knox doesn’t need it the way we do,” he added. “He does it because he has to. Because he’s good at it.”
