Time passed slowly in the dark.
Izana had stopped trying to measure it.
Without light, minutes and hours blurred together into something shapeless. The room remained cold and silent except for the faint sound of his own breathing.
His ribs ached where the blows had landed earlier. Every breath reminded him of it.
Blood had dried along the corner of his lip.
But otherwise, he remained still.
Waiting.
Patience had always been one of his greatest strengths.
Somewhere beyond the walls of this place, people were moving. Plans were forming. Dante would already be searching.
Izana knew that.
So he waited.
About an hour later.
Two floors above the interrogation room, a smaller office sat dimly lit by a single overhead lamp.
The two secret police agents from earlier sat across from each other at a metal table.
Between them lay several items.
Izana's belongings.
Everything that had been taken from him when he was captured.
His phone.
His wallet.
His watch.
And a knife.
The knife looked old but well maintained. The blade was clean, the handle worn slightly from years of use.
One of the agents picked it up.
"Interesting piece," he muttered, turning it over in his hands.
The other agent glanced over.
"Personal item," he said.
The first man examined it closely before setting it back down.
"Not cheap either."
"Probably sentimental."
The second man leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That man is exhausting."
The first agent smirked.
"You expected him to fold easily?"
"No."
"But I expected something."
The first agent shrugged.
"He hasn't cracked yet."
"Yet."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then the second agent reached for the wallet.
"Let's see what the great Izana Grimshaw carries around."
He opened it slowly.
Inside were several black credit cards.
High limit.
No visible names.
The agent whistled quietly.
"Expensive taste."
He pulled out another card.
Then another.
Finally, something else slipped out.
A photograph.
The agent held it up.
His partner leaned forward slightly.
"Who's that?"
The man studied the picture.
A woman.
Blonde hair.
Bright blue eyes.
She stood beside Izana in the photograph, smiling slightly while Izana looked unusually relaxed beside her.
The agent's eyebrow lifted.
"Well now."
His partner leaned closer.
"Girlfriend?"
"Wife maybe."
The agent tapped the photo against the table thoughtfully.
"He carries this in his wallet."
"That means something."
His partner smirked slightly.
"Everyone has a weakness."
The first agent looked down at the photograph again.
"Maybe we just found his."
He slid the picture across the table.
Just then—
A sudden sound broke the silence.
RING.
Both men looked at the table.
Izana's phone was vibrating.
RING.
The screen lit up.
The first agent picked it up.
The name on the screen was simple.
Leah.
The two men exchanged a glance.
"Well," the second agent said slowly.
"That's convenient."
The phone continued ringing.
RING.
The first agent smiled faintly.
"I think our suspect just got lucky."
"Or unlucky," said the second.
He looked at the phone again.
Leah.
The same name as the woman in the photo.
He held the picture beside the screen.
Same woman.
Definitely the same person.
The agent chuckled quietly.
"Perfect timing."
The other man leaned forward.
"This might be exactly what we need."
The phone rang again.
RING.
"Answer it?" the second agent asked.
The first agent shook his head.
"Not yet."
He stood up, picking up both the phone and the photograph.
"Let's take this to him."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"I think we finally found a way to make him talk."
Back in the interrogation room.
Izana sat exactly where he had been left.
Still tied to the chair.
Still waiting.
The darkness had become almost comfortable now.
Then—
Click.
The harsh interrogation light snapped back on.
Izana's eyes shut immediately as the brightness stabbed into his vision.
Footsteps followed.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
The metal door opened.
CLANG.
The two agents entered again.
Izana slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the light.
The first agent walked closer.
But this time something was different.
He was holding something.
A phone.
Izana's phone.
The agent turned the screen toward him.
The name glowing brightly across it made Izana's breath pause for just a fraction of a second.
Leah.
The phone was still ringing.
RING.
Something in Izana's expression changed.
It was subtle.
Almost invisible.
But the agents saw it.
The shift in his eyes.
The tiny tightening of his jaw.
The first agent smiled slowly.
"There it is."
The second agent crossed his arms.
"I told you everyone has a weakness."
The first agent held the phone closer so Izana could see the name clearly.
Leah.
RING.
"You recognize the caller?"
Izana didn't answer.
But his gaze remained locked on the screen.
The agent chuckled softly.
"That's what I thought."
He pressed a button.
The ringing stopped.
The call connected.
The agent turned on speaker mode.
Then held the phone directly in front of Izana's face.
The room filled with the faint sound of breathing from the other side of the line.
The agent leaned closer to Izana.
His voice was calm.
Cold.
"Speak."
Izana's lips moved slightly.
Nothing came out.
"Don't play games," the second agent said.
"You know who it is."
Another pause.
Then the first agent added,
"She's worried, you know. She's calling you for a reason."
Izana's eyes flicked briefly toward the shadowed corner of the room.
Still no answer.
"Doesn't she deserve to hear your voice?" the first agent asked, lowering his tone to a near whisper.
"Or do you want her to worry even more?"
The second agent snorted.
"Look at him. He's cracking inside. You can see it. He just won't admit it yet."
The first agent's smile widened.
"You see, everyone has that one line you won't cross."
Izana's chest rose and fell rapidly.
Every second stretched unbearably.
The phone clicked softly.
The voice of Leah spoke, faint and trembling:
"Iz…ana? Are you there?"
Silence.
The first agent leaned in.
"Go on. Say something."
The second agent grinned.
"Come on, Izana. One word. That's all we need. One word and we can stop this whole charade."
Izana's jaw tightened.
His knuckles whitened.
His lips quivered.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he whispered:
"…Leah."
The agents exchanged a glance, almost triumphant.
"Finally," said the first.
"Music to my ears."
"Now," said the second agent, his tone sharp,
"You tell us what we want to know. For her."
Izana's eyes narrowed.
But the seed had been planted.
He had crossed a line—just a little.
The game had begun.