Raven stood outside the one-way glass, her arms loose at her sides, the holding room's chill rising through the concrete and into her bare feet with a slow, creeping touch.
Cold kept people awake. She preferred that. Two hours had passed since Gabriel went into surgery, with no word yet. The mansion felt hollow without the Iron Wall's steady presence in the war room, the silent weight of him that made every plan feel grounded. Every footstep echoed a little louder tonight, and every shadow stretched longer.
The mercenary commander sat inside, his wrists zip-tied to the chair arms, his head slumped. His breathing came shallow but steady. He had been trained, meaning physical pain wouldn't break him, as pain only made men say anything to make it stop. She needed the truth, not noise.
