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Two guards were stationed on the entrance of the room, with knives sheathed around their waists as emergency protection. It was unnecessary, Elliot thought, but he did not question it.

“Wait here,” Victoria told him a few feet away from the door, making Elliot stopped on track as if a trained dog. She sauntered towards the two guards and talked to them. The two guards—although hesitating—agreed to let Elliot in. Victoria turned to his brother, motioning him to get closer. Once again, like an obedient dog, Elliot strode closer. He felt like Victoria was playing with him.

One guard opened the door and let the siblings in. Elliot immediately scanned his surroundings. The room was mediocre compared to the entire mansion he lived in, as if a secret room that did not belong here. A simple room with dirty broken-white walls. Only one window occupied the room, along with minimal furniture such as a small dresser, a small drawer, a small stool, and a bed. The room looked like it had not been inhabited for the past few years—which, most likely to be true. On the bed, a boy around Elliot’s age settled; his arms wrapped around his folded knees. The boy laid his head on his knees, gazing to nothingness outside the window. Messy dark hair, torn and dirty clothes, sunburned dusty skin—and yet Elliot thought he was not exactly in a bad condition. Pitiful, Elliot agreed—but not bad. As though fragility concealing toughness and glory beneath it.

Later, he realized the boy’s ankle was chained to one leg of the bed, leaving him vulnerable. Elliot, against his better judgment, wished to set the boy free.

“You have fifteen minutes,” Victoria—which Elliot had forgotten was still there—announced. He did not expect Victoria to say anything, and a single sentence got his heart pounded in surprise. Though, he managed to not look surprised—or else Victoria would make fun of him again—and nodded at his sister’s words.

Victoria sauntered away from the suffocatingly silent room, as Elliot watched her out and closed the door behind her.

Finally, he was alone with the boy.

Elliot turned to the boy. “Hey,” he greeted awkwardly. The boy on the bed lifted his head up instinctively. He was cautious, glaring like a feral animal at Elliot. The young master stood still, keeping the distance between them. He lifted his hands slowly and carefully, yet the boy still jolted back at the slightest movement. The boy pushed himself to the edge of the bed he almost fell. Elliot decided that any sudden movement would scare the boy and locked his hands in front of his chest. “Look,” he said, motioning to his hands. “I won’t hurt you.”

The boy remained cautious and terrified. Droplets of sweat rolled over the boy’s forehead as pure terror shadowed his red orbs. Though his eyes were of a strange color, though he was skinny and malnourished, though his dark hair was messy and dusty, though his dirty clothes were torn in odd places, though his sunburned skin was bruised—Elliot found him enchanting. There was something inexplicably captivating that had drawn him to the boy.

As no answer was given to him, Elliot released the lock of his hands and slowly held them to head level, checking whether the movement affected the boy or not. The boy—as expected—still tensed, but he did not try to throw himself off the bed like he did before. Elliot remained still for a moment; eyes trained to the boy. His mind threaded a sentence carefully—one that would not drive the boy away. Slowly, he opened his mouth. “I won’t hurt you,” he said as gently as possible.

As though finally recognizing human language, the boy’s shoulders relaxed. Elliot took the gesture as a permission to get one step closer to the boy. Only one tiny step. Their eyes were still locked onto each other’s; awkward silence was in charge. As the silence became unbearable, though, Elliot decided to break it. “Hey,” he said softly, uncertainty was dense in his tone. “What’s... your name?”

The Dark-Haired boy kept silent. He did not break eye contact with Elliot—even to blink—and kept glaring at him.

“Hey?” Elliot tried once again to no avail. As the awkward atmosphere got denser, Elliot shrugged and dragged a stool near the dresser. He put it beside the bed—a little closer than where he stood previously—and sat down. “What’s your name?” he repeated, keeping his patient.

Dark-Hair flinched, and Elliot took it as a sign of annoyance. That—somehow—made Elliot smile. As if they learned to understand each other’s gesture even in their first meeting. So, taking it positively, he leaned a little closer and asked, “Why did you try to kill me?”

Dark-Hair remained unwavering and silent—which piqued Elliot’s curiosity. So, Elliot decided to keep the train of questions going. “Who told you to kill me? Why did they want to kill me? Why did you agree to do so?”

Though unanswered, Elliot treaded his gaze on the boy. “I won’t leave until you answer at least one question,” he made an ultimatum, then he fell silent and waited for any answer in suffocating silence.

Dark-Hair was adamant to keep silent, believing that Elliot would be tired eventually.

Which was where he was wrong.

Minutes of uncomfortable atmosphere passed by, until there was a knock on the door. “Elliot?” Victoria peeked into the room carefully. “Fifteen minutes.”

Elliot sighed in defeat, yet he stood up and dragged himself up to the door. Dark-Hair was flooded in victory—thinking that the stubborn boy was finally leaving—and almost broke into a joyous squeal.

Elliot flung the door open, finding Victoria and the two guards behind the door. “So?” Victoria asked.

“So what?” Elliot cocked his eyebrows.

“So, what are you going to do with the boy?” his little sister tilted her head to the side, taking a glance at the detainee.

“No,” the older brother shook his head. “It’s an order. Don’t touch him. lock him here and just let me visit him regularly. I want to get him to talk to me.”

“Pardon?”

“I said what I said,” Elliot stated firmly.

Victoria frowned, clearly not on board with the idea. Though, she guessed that her brother had an insane yet effective idea to come. So, she shrugged the feeling off. “Well,” she turned her heels away. “I’ll tell Father. But, I must remind you to keep yourself safe. Make him spill everything he has.”

Elliot nodded. He spun towards the boy in the room—who was no longer ecstatic for thinking that the young master gave up—and grinned at the scoffing boy. “Just wait,” Elliot challenged, pointing at the captive. “I’ll make you speak eventually. Believe me.” And with that, the young master turned his heels and left the room. He closed the door behind him, while the Dark-Hair’s eyes lingered on him.

What’s wrong with him? Dark-Hair thought, annoyed. He rolled his eyes and fell on the bed, huffing. The young master’s energy was too exhausting for him.

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