Back in the Vale mansion....
The low room inside Maverick's wing, flickered dimly under unstable yellow lights.
Every few seconds, one of the bulbs buzzed violently like it was about to die completely and the air smelled of rusted iron, disinfectant and dried blood.
Dahlia walked into the small basement space, carrying a tray carefully balanced in her hands.
It was a bowl of soup, water and medicine all stacked into the sizable kitchen equipment.
The metal door creaked shut behind her as she approached the man tied to the chair in the center of the room.
Meshach looked terrible.
Days of captivity had hollowed out his face slightly while bruises still lingered across his jaw and throat from the interrogation.
His wrists remained tightly restrained behind the chair and fresh bandages wrapped around both of his hands.
Hands Dahlia herself had broken.
