In the dimly lit room, Yves' reluctance cast shadows across his face as he reluctantly extended his hand towards the small bottle of poison.
His fingers hesitated for a brief moment before wrapping around the vial, a decision made not out of choice, but rather out of a calculated necessity to navigate the intricate maze of impending dangers.
"Why not take care of it yourself?" Yves questioned, a subtle challenge underlying his words.
The masked guard's eyes, concealed behind the ominous mask, held an unwavering gaze, revealing no hint of emotion.
The guard's response carried a chilling implication. "His meals are always tested for poison before reaching his mouth. But I guess he will make an exception for you."
The words hung in the air, resonating with a sense of clandestine precision.
