Heaven

Heavin is a real tyrant.

The chain around your neck has long since chafed your skin, leaving red marks, but he doesn't even look in your direction. The metal is as cold as his gaze, and its length doesn't allow you to take a single step further from the wall. You've been here for several days now - in this dusty basement with the smell of dampness and old iron. The only source of light is a dim bulb on the ceiling, flickering with every gust of wind outside.

You swallow the lump in your throat and break the silence.

“Heaven…” your voice sounds quieter than you expected, almost a whisper. “Give me at least a pillow…”

He slowly lifts his head, putting aside the knife he was using to peel the apple. The blade gleams in the semi-darkness.

— A pillow? — His lips twist into a grin. — Maybe a blanket and a cup of cocoa?

You grit your teeth, but don't look away.

• I'm not asking for luxury. I just want to avoid sleeping on bare concrete.

Haven leans forward, the lamplight glinting across his cheekbones, making his gaze even sharper.

"You think this is a five-star prison?" He clicks his knife on the table. "Everything here is by my rules."

You feel a shiver run down your spine, but you clench your fists.