The mission within the city progressed with grim precision. Despite the blow of losing Tesmee, operations remained stable under the chain of command. The Plan B team maintained their positions near the Hale estate, awaiting instructions from Tyric. With Tesmee down, he now held full authority over their movements. Their eyes never left the estate. Not out of fear—but calculation. If the Hales became a bargaining chip or target, they were prepared to strike first.
Meanwhile, Plan C moved with unrelenting pace. The city skyline cast long shadows over them as they advanced through narrow alleys and across rooftops. Lorenzo gave quiet, sharp instructions through comms, and on the ground, Seig led the unit with lethal focus. Their mission: eliminate all of Tyson's long-range eyes—his snipers—and provide counterwatch for any of their own becoming a target.
Far beyond the city, at its desolate outskirts, a quiet storm was brewing.
Tesmee sat upright—barely—in the center of a dimly lit concrete room. Her body slumped slightly, limbs bound in thick iron chains that were bolted into the ground beneath her. Her vision was blurred, the last remnants of the tranquilizer still muddling her senses. The cold air bit at her skin as she drew a shaky breath, eyes blinking slowly against the heavy spinning of the room.
The silence was not comforting—it was calculated.
Three men stood in the room with her. Each tall, broad, and merciless in posture. They wore no uniform—just dark, casual clothing that hid no kindness. Behind them, metal tables were lined neatly with tools. Not surgical—torturous. There were pliers, clamps, heated rods, blades dulled by overuse, and beside them sat glass enclosures filled with insects. Poisonous spiders and unrecognizable creatures crawled along the glass, their presence adding a twisted layer of psychological torment.
One of the men stepped closer, his boots echoing heavily in the hollow room. Tesmee tried to lift her head, but her strength faltered. The man leaned down, voice cold as steel.
"You're awake. Good. It means we can begin."
She finally lifted her head, slowly, defiantly, her grey steel eyes locking onto the man before her.
"Begin?" she rasped, her voice hoarse but laced with cold amusement. "I'm already done..."
A smirk twisted her lips, despite the weakness clouding her limbs. There was no fear in her tone—only bitter mockery.
The man let out a low chuckle, one that didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see about that."
With no further warning, he gripped her jaw and forced her head back against the chair. Another man moved quickly, draping a thick cloth over her face. Her breathing hitched.
Then came the water.
It cascaded over her face in a steady, suffocating stream—filling her nose, soaking the cloth, drowning her senses. Her body jerked against the chains, instinctively fighting for breath, but the shackles dug deep into her wrists and ankles.
This was no interrogation. It was a message.
Waterboarding—cruel, silent, and clean.
She choked beneath the fabric, lungs screaming for air, but even in the chaos of it, her mind didn't break. In that torment, Tesmee held on—to every face she fought for, to every name that needed her alive.
Tyric… Lorenzo… the mission…
She was drowning, yes—but not defeated.
Not yet.They paused.
Tesmee's chest heaved violently as air finally rushed into her lungs. "Aghhh—" she gasped, coughing, her throat raw, water spilling from the corners of her lips.
But mercy was never the intent.
Without hesitation, they yanked her back down, pinning her head harshly against the chair. One man tightened the soaked cloth around her face—wrapping it with precision, leaving no room for air, for escape.
The second man raised a new container—25 liters this time.
And poured.
The water came heavier, faster, relentless.
Tesmee's body convulsed beneath the chains, every instinct in her screaming to survive. She couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Her world became darkness and drowning and the sound of her own racing pulse in her ears.
To them, this was control.
To her, it was a test.
And no matter how cruel the drowning felt, Tesmee's mind clung to one cold truth:
They hadn't broken her yet.