*** Ray ***

  He reaches forward, slowly, deliberately, and I cannot help the shiver that runs down my spine. His hand hovers near my face for a moment, as if considering whether to touch me. But instead, he lets his fingers trail along the air, just inches from my skin. The space between us burns, an invisible current that threatens to pull me in.

  “Do you know why you are here?” he asks softly, his tone detached but still, somehow, more dangerous than if he had shouted the question.

  I open my mouth, but the words refuse to come. I want to scream that I know why I’m here. I know I am nothing to him. Nothing but an object, a possession. But that is not what he is asking. I can feel it. The question is not for my understanding, but for his own. To see if I can be molded, if I can be bent to his will.

  My silence is the answer he expected.

  His lips curl into something that might be a smile, though it holds no warmth. It is a smile that speaks of control, of triumph, of inevitability.

  “You are here because you are not what I expected,” he says, the words a quiet challenge. “Most humans break quickly. They fall into despair. They beg for mercy.”

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  I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. It is not pity—it is not even contempt. It is something colder, something worse. Indifference. The Alki have no need for mercy. They exist above it, untouched by the messy, frail emotions that plague humans.

  “I wonder,” he continues, his fingers now brushing against my cheek, just barely, “how long you will last.”

  His touch is light, almost gentle—but I feel the power in it. A simple gesture, and yet it cuts deeper than any blow I’ve ever received. It is a reminder of my place in this world, a reminder of how far removed I am from everything that once mattered.

  I remain still, refusing to meet his gaze, but he doesn’t let me off so easily. He leans closer, and his breath is cold against my ear.

  “Ray,” he says, his voice soft, but the weight of the name is like a brand. “I should have introduced myself properly. I am Salazar. You will address me as such when you speak. Understand?”

  The command is there, undeniable, and yet... it is not as harsh as I expected. His tone is matter-of-fact, like a teacher instructing a wayward pupil, not a captor asserting dominance.

  I don't answer immediately. The name hangs between us, a barrier I can neither ignore nor embrace. Salazar. The name has weight—more weight than I care to admit. But I cannot speak the word. Not yet.

  He straightens, and the air feels colder now, the space between us stretching, filling with the suffocating silence of his expectation.

  "You’ll learn your place in time," he says, the promise—and the threat—clear in his eyes. Then he turns, his presence pulling away like the last flicker of warmth in a freezing room.

  The door slams shut behind him, leaving me in the crushing silence. His name, like an echo, lingers in the dark.