Roland's hand shackled Cedric's throat, his grip a crushing vise that threatened to splinter the delicate vertebrae of his neck.
Yet, Cedric didn't struggle; he merely wore that signature, maddening smirk—a mask of infuriating confidence that remained undisturbed even as his oxygen ran thin. His eyes, cold and analytical, watched Roland's descent into madness with a detached, clinical boredom.
"You gave me your word you would find her!" Roland roared, the sound vibrating with a raw, guttural agony.
"Where is she? I know that look, Alistair... that flickering shadow in your gaze. You've known her location from the very beginning, haven't you?"
"And if I have?" Cedric managed, his voice strained and raspy from the constriction, yet dripping with a lethal, unbothered sarcasm.
