Claire stared down at the two men, her expression cold and unrelenting. Her eyes narrowed as she sized them up, her patience wearing thin. “Do you still want to deny knowing Rafayel?” she asked, her voice dripping with ice.
The two men, crumpled on the ground like discarded toys, shook their heads frantically, but Claire knew they were lying. It wasn’t hard to tell—there was something about the way they avoided her gaze, the nervous twitch in their shoulders. She couldn’t help but wonder what made them so resilient, so determined not to give her what she wanted. What was so important about this Rafayel that they’d rather take their chances with her than spill the truth?
Claire crouched down, lowering herself to their level. Her long nails lightly grazed the jaw of one of the men, making him flinch. “You know,” she said softly, her voice deceptively calm, “I really don’t want to do this the hard way.” She grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look directly into her eyes. Her grip was firm, her tone dangerous. “But if you don’t start talking, I won’t have a choice.”
The man gulped, clearly nervous, but he kept his mouth shut. His friend wasn’t much better, his face slick with sweat. Claire sighed, the sound full of exaggerated disappointment. “So, which will it be?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, as if genuinely pondering the question. “The soft way? Or the hard way?”
Neither of them spoke. The silence hung in the air like a heavy blanket, and Claire’s expression shifted from annoyance to something more deadly. “Fine,” she muttered, straightening up slightly. “The hard way it is, then.”
Without breaking eye contact, Claire pulled a small knife from her pants pocket. It wasn’t large, but it was sharp enough to make a point. She tilted her head again, pretending to contemplate her next move. “Now, who should I start with?” she mused, her finger pointing lazily between the two men.
Her gaze landed on the one who seemed slightly more stoic than his companion. The other man was already sweating bullets, but this one? He was holding out, though Claire could tell he was close to cracking. She let the tip of the knife graze his cheek, dragging it slowly down toward his neck. His breath hitched, and beads of sweat began forming on his forehead.
Claire smirked. She had him now.
Just as she applied a little more pressure, enough to make him wince, he broke. “Okay, okay, okay!” he repeated in a rush, his eyes wide with fear.
Claire raised her brows, feigning surprise. “Oh? Have you finally considered my words?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.
The two men exchanged a look, and Claire rolled her eyes. “Are we doing this again?” she said, her tone cold. “I don’t have all day. If you won’t talk, I’ll have to take this further, and I promise you won’t like that.”
The man Claire had been threatening nodded vigorously. “Alright, alright! We know Rafayel,” he admitted, his voice shaky. “He’s… he’s our friend.”
Claire stood up, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her chest. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” she said, her voice dripping with mock praise. But then her expression hardened again. “Where is he?”
The men hesitated, and Claire’s patience snapped. “I swear, if we’re about to go in circles again, I will not be as nice as I’ve been.”
The second man, the one who had been silent up until now, finally spoke up. “We can’t tell you where he is,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Claire’s eyes darkened. “Can’t or won’t?” she asked sharply, her arms still crossed.
The man looked away, avoiding her gaze, which was all the answer Claire needed.
“Look,” the first man stammered, clearly trying to smooth things over, “it’s not that we don’t want to tell you, it’s just...it will cost our live if we tell you."
“Yeah, well, that’s unfortunate,” Claire snapped back. “Because I’m not leaving here without an answer. So, unless you want to test how much pain you can handle, you better start talking.”
The second man glanced at his friend, his face pale. “If we tell you, it's over for us.”
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