The underground cell was colder than usual that night. Damp walls glistened with condensation under the harsh air. Leon sat slumped in the metal chair, wrists still bound, his body a map of bruises and dried blood. Every breath hurt. His swollen eyes could barely stay open, but fear kept him conscious.
Viktor paced slowly in front of him, arms crossed, a mixture of irritation and reluctant pity on his face.
"You still haven't given us anything useful, kid," Viktor muttered. "Just a few more answers and this could end. Where did your father keep the important documents? The ones related to his private dealings? Tell me and I might convince the others to go easier on you."
Leon's voice was a broken whisper. "I've told you… I don't know. My father never shared those things with me. I was just his son… not his partner in whatever he was doing. Please… I'm begging you."
