“You eat.”
His English is rough but understandable.
I don’t move toward it.
“Where are the others from the convoy?”
No answer.
Not surprising either.
I study him carefully instead.
Late thirties maybe.
Scar near his jaw.
Military posture.
Disciplined.
Not some random thug.
“Were they killed?” I ask.
Still nothing.
The second guard shifts slightly near the door, fingers tightening against his weapon.
Nervous.
Good.
Nervous men make mistakes.
“You doctor,” the first man says finally. “You cooperate, no problems.”
Yeah.
That’s never true.
I fold my arms slowly.
“What do you want?”
His expression doesn’t change.
“You wait.”
Frustration flashes hot through me.
“I’m not doing anything until I know those people are alive.”
That gets a reaction.
Tiny.
Quick glance between the two men.
