"What can I do?!" Scarlet asked, the words spilling out in a frantic, jagged edge of desperation.
Without even sparing him a glance, Miguel remained focused on his own faint, shiny reflection.
The mirror, hung on the far end of a tired painted wall where a nude male wallpaper was plastered, threw back a blurred image of a man entirely unbothered.
Miguel fastidiously fixed his coat cuffs and smoothed away misplaced strands of hair with a terrifying composure. Then, he let out a muffled, sinister, brittle chuckle, a sound that did nothing but add fresh salt to Scarlet's wounded ego.
"Now that's what I want to hear," Miguel praised with a concise nod.
He acted the part of an impressed father, hunching slightly as he properly adjusted his posture.
The order, the 'price to pay', was already forming in his throat, making his jaws tighten with predatory intent.
"I want you to be my eyes," Miguel said.
