Rafael's steel eyes narrowed into slits as James leaned in, his voice cutting through the chaos like a razor-thin thread. Jason's broken sobs rattled in the background, tangled with Rocco's low, animalistic grunts as he pressed the interrogation forward. The chamber stank of iron and sweat, the kind of smell that clung to your lungs and made breathing feel like swallowing coins.
The faint groan of Rafael's wheelchair broke the silence between words, a subtle protest against his restless shifting. He could feel the weight of the moment sitting on his chest, every denial Jason had thrown out carving cracks into his once-solid certainty. Fury and doubt twisted together inside him, sharp and suffocating.
