Kaelith felt a sharp wave of nausea rise within him, his chest heaving up and down as he struggled to steady his breathing and keep from spilling it all out. His hand clutched at his stomach, and his throat burned with the effort of holding himself together. Leonhardt, noticing the sudden change, frowned deeply, confusion clouding his expression. His voice softened as he asked, "Are you alright?"
Kaelith raised a trembling hand, gesturing toward him in reassurance. His voice was weak but steady enough. "Yes… I'm fine. You don't need to worry. It's probably just the damp air in this building—it must have gotten to me."
Leonhardt tilted his head, unconvinced, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"I see… or perhaps," he muttered, his tone carrying a sharp edge, "you don't want to torture them yourself. Do you want me to do it for you?"
