Dexter's breathing was ragged. His patience had been worn thin, his mind teetering on the edge of chaos.
And yet, Trevor kept talking like they had all the time in the world.
Enough.
Dexter moved.
His golden eyes burned with unrelenting fury as he lunged, Olathros shrieking in his grip.
Trevor barely had time to react before the blade was at his throat.
Daemon smirked but didn't intervene. Korrin shifted slightly, watching with cautious amusement, and Gerald froze.
Trevor, however, did not flinch.
Not a muscle moved.
Dexter's grip tightened. "Start making sense, or I start cutting."
Trevor exhaled. "You won't kill me."
Dexter's eye twitched. "Try me."
Trevor looked at him then—not with fear, not with anger—but with understanding.
"You don't want the truth, Dexter." His voice was calm. "Because the truth will break you."
Dexter's fingers trembled on the hilt. "I'm already broken."
Trevor smiled faintly. "Not yet."
And then, he spoke the words that changed everything.
