The red-haired lady looked down at Arthur, her crimson eyes cold and steady.
"Only I will ask questions here," she said. "And you will answer."
Arthur stared back at her.
For a brief moment—
He said nothing.
But something in his gaze shifted.
His eyes darkened into a murderous hue, sharp and dangerous, like a beast that had been chained but not tamed. There was a faint stillness in the air, the kind that only appeared before a storm.
The hooded figures hesitated, as if sensing something unspoken, a faint pulse of tension between predator and prey.
Elizabeth's smile faded just a little.
"I don't like the look in your eyes," she said flatly.
Then she moved.
SLAP.
Her hand met his cheek again.
His head turned to the side—
Blood flew from the fresh cut.
Before he could fully straighten it—
SLAP.
Another strike.
Then another.
And another.
She slapped him again and again.
Not wildly.
Not out of control.
