I swallowed—silently, with effort.
Suddenly my heart kicked into a gallop, an unfamiliar rush of anxiety flooding every limb as I stepped toward the door.
Before my hand reached the handle, the doctor moved ahead of me and swung it open.
Cold air from the hall and the glass cube slapped my face like ice. Three guards—one at each corner—stood motionless, expressionless behind their visor helmets, obedient machines.
The doctor didn't follow; easy to guess why. He didn't want his presence to break whatever fragile trust I might build. After all, he'd spent years torturing Ashur.
I crossed the floor and stopped at the cube. He sat as always, head bowed, as if locked in hibernation.
I held my breath, eased closer. From the corner of my eye I still felt the doctor's stare—then, a moment later, he withdrew and shut the door behind him.
Air escaped my lungs. My gaze slid to the tattoo that covered Ashur's torso: a multi-headed serpent. The design climbed as far as the black tank allowed. One viper's head reached his crown so that, when he lowered his face, two cold eyes seemed to stare straight down into you.
"Nice ink," I said.
His index finger twitched—just slightly.
I managed a faint smile, brittle with nerves; every muscle felt as though it were shivering. I needed the perfect moment to drop the trigger code—the one Rose promised would make him speak.
Hands shoved in the jumpsuit pockets, I stayed by the glass.
"Want to tell me why you chose that tattoo?"
Silence. Only silence answered.
His head remained down, features hidden. Years of isolation hadn't wasted his body, yet he wasn't hulking either; the tight, coiled muscles made him unsettling—almost mesmerizing.
"So why do they call you Viper? Is there a special reason? The tattoos? Or maybe that pit you crawled out of—the snake you killed bare-handed?"
His head shifted a fraction... He was listening; waiting.
I clenched my fists inside the pockets, swallowed, steadied my pulse.
This was only a game—and I had to play it perfectly.
"You're the kid they tossed into the pit to die because you had no talent," I said, tilting my head.
"But killing that snake proved you weren't like the rest."
I pressed a palm to the glass.
"What turned you into... this? Why let that outfit exploit you, abandon you for years, then let their enemies lock you up here?"
Still silence—my breathing grew ragged. I shot a glance at the ceiling-camera; the doctor was surely watching. The second hand on my watch crept forward—time was gone. Ashur had to speak, and I had to seed the password.
Why was the room so cold? My fingers felt frozen.
Staring at his calm, terrifying face, I whispered, "I really want to know—"
Move, Viuna... no time... give him the code.
If Ashur stayed mute, Steven's death meant nothing. All the pain—wasted.
Through clenched teeth I forced the phrase:
"I heard they pumped the Poisoned-SerpentVenom out of you. Did the snake actually bite? How did you survive?"
I sucked in air, listening to my own heartbeat. Eyes locked on him. Please talk... please...
Nothing.
The white door opened.
I whirled back to Ashur, hissing, "You have to talk—"
The doctor strode toward me, furious. "Your time is up."
Ignoring him, I hammered the glass.
"If your mission—your beliefs—whatever kept you alive matters, speak! Otherwise they'll sell you!"
His hand cracked across my cheek; I hit the floor.
He seized my hair, snarled in my face, "You think chatter breaks him?"
He flung my head down; pain spiked. He snatched a baton from a guard, pressed it to my forehead. I panted up at him.
"I thought you had potential. I was wrong," he growled. Then shouted: "Prep the torture room—take Ashur there."
Panicked, I lurched forward. "No—he'll—"
His boot slammed my chest; I curled on the tiles. He raised the baton to smash my skull—
"T-ta...ta...tattoo. D-do you l-like it?"