I could hear my heartbeat in my own ears, feel it pounding in my head. I felt like at any moment, my heart would beat right out my chest. Could he see it? Probably.

He’s staring right at me, I felt like his cold blue eyes, devoid of any humanity could see right through me.

Not that I’m hiding anything, I’m too terrified.

He’s eerily still, seated across from me on his bunk. Legs spread wide, hands folded loosely in his lap, he would look so leisurely, if not for his stillness. like a string pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping.

I have a feeling he could snap my neck before I could move an inch, or scream for help.

Finally, I cant stand it. “Are you going to kill me?”

He blinks, he seems almost… surprised. Amused?

“Why would I kill you?” His voice startles me, its not as deep as I thought it would be; its rough from lack of use but almost.. pleasant.

“Because thats what you do?” I cringe, “I mean… isnt it?” God, Im going to die. First day as a psychologist and this is all I have to say.

I clear my throat, straightening my spine and lifting my chin, summoning the composed professional facade I use with clients. However, this encounter feels different.. Definitely more dangerous.

“Five minutes,” he demands.

Unable to resist, I ask, “What? Until I die?”

His expression remains unreadable, a stoic mask. “You get five minutes before you witness 'what I do.'”

My face drains of color, my heart intensifying its rapid beats. I inhale deeply.

“That’s not what Sam would want, is it?”

A fracture appears in his facade—disbelief, followed swiftly by anger.

In an instant of complete silence, he lunges, pinning me against the wall, his hand closing around my throat. As I prepare to scream, he leans down, bringing our heads to the same level. Inches apart, any closer and our lips would touch.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

The pressure on my throat is not painful; it's the thumb against my pulse that concerns me.

“What do you know about Sam?” His breath brushes my face, and I sense I'm treading on thin ice.

Staring back at him, I discard all pretenses and exhale, “Sam was my brother.”

Another moment of silence follows before he tightens his grip, and I struggle for breath.

“Not possible.”

My hands clutch his at my throat, and I gasp, "He says *Paladin*. He said you would know what it means!"

His hand releases my throat, causing him to stagger backward, colliding with the bed and sitting down abruptly. The bunk creaks loudly, drowning out my wheezing as I immediately bend over, breathing heavily. To steady myself, I have to slam my hand against the wall, battling the dizziness that sweeps over me. I glance up at him, attempting to regain control of my racing heart. He appears stunned, just observing me as I collect myself. Standing upright, I swallow heavily.

“How?” he rasps. “How is it possible?”

“He's not dead, Rome.”