Mason stood in the dimly lit chamber, the flickering light from the torches casting shadows on the stone walls. In front of him, chained to opposite walls, were Micah, with bruises all over his body, and Cristobal, bound and barely conscious, yet still seething with defiance.

Rick stood silently by the door, arms crossed, his eyes flicking between the three of them, awaiting orders.

Mason tapped his fingers on the hilt of the knife he held, lazily spinning it in his grip as if it were a mere toy. He paced back and forth in front of his captives, stopping occasionally to inspect them with a twisted sense of amusement....