The silence in Room 58 was a physical weight, thick with the scent of Malcolm's musk and the ozone-heavy aura of the Enigma. Malcolm Ford lay pinned to the mattress, his breath coming in jagged, desperate hitches. The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into his wrists, a constant reminder of his helplessness.
"If you do this," Malcolm rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over broken glass, "I swear to you, Lukas... I will kill myself. Or I will find a way to kill you. There is no world where we both survive this night if you continue. I am a nothing like you; I am not a sacrifice for your twisted curiosity."
