Pavel’s eyes track the water like he’s been in the desert for months. I unscrew the cap and hold it up to his mouth. I give him just enough to wet his throat, then I pull it away.
He breathes hard through his nose.
“What is this?” he asks carefully.
“This is me giving you a chance,” I say.
His gaze sharpens. “A chance at what?”
“A chance to keep your hands,” I answer calmly.
His face goes paler.
I sit back down in front of him. “You were involved in the breach.”
He shakes his head fast. “No,” he answers quickly. “They would never let me be part of something that big.”
“That might be true,” I reply. “You knew about it, though.”
“I didn’t,” he insists. “I’m not that high up.”
“You’re tasked with carrying important messages for Mikhail,” I say slowly. “Messages that no one else is privy to. That must make you feel essential.”
His mouth opens, then shuts it. He’s thinking. He’s weighing his options. He’s trying to decide if I’m tricking him.
“The thing is, Pavel, even if you weren’t involved, you know more than the men who were. You were vital in getting the word spread. So, I’ll ask you again. Tell me who coordinated it.”
He laughs again, brittle. “I don’t know.”
I nod once. “That’s fine,” I say casually.
I stand, walk behind him, and grab his left hand. I hold it steady, then I take the pliers and clamp them around his ring finger. I don’t rush. I give him time to understand what is happening.
His breath spikes. “Wait.”
“I waited,” I say calmly. “There’s no more waiting.”
He starts to panic, voice cracking. “I don’t know anything, I swear I don’t know anything.”
I squeeze.
He screams so loud his throat goes raw in an instant. The chair jerks under him. His shoulders strain against the ties. The bones crush under the weight of the pliers.
Pavel sobs hard and gasps for air. “Stop, stop, stop.”
I release the pliers and step back into his line of sight.
“You can still help yourself,” I tell him. “Tell me who coordinated the breach.”
His whole body shakes. “I don’t know.”
I don’t argue. I don’t threaten again. I take his other hand.
His eyes go wide. “No, please?—”
I crush another finger.
This scream is worse. It rips out of him like his body is trying to detach from itself. He starts babbling, words slurring, begging, promising, swearing. I let him get it out. I let him realize begging doesn’t change anything.
