Yves stood with an unnerving calm, his gaze merciless as it bore into James.
With a slow, deliberate gesture, he signaled for Lucas to reveal the faces of the battered victims.
Lucas responded without hesitation. He grabbed the assailants, yanking them from the congealing pool of blood, their pained groans echoing in the dim, oppressive room.
"I'm sure you know them," Yves said, his voice void of emotion, yet heavy with menace. "Or what they did to Nathanael Arnaud not so long ago."
James' heart pounded in his chest as recognition hit him like a sledgehammer.
The bloodied faces of these men were unmistakable, rendering James' mouth to fall open, words failing him.
Before he could muster a response, however, Yves stepped forward, pulling out an ice pick, its tip still stained with dried blood.
