Gydarra wrapped his arm around Nina's waist and pressed the cold blade of his knife against her throat. The night was bitterly cold, with the snow blanketing the surroundings, and the atmosphere was charged with tension.
Nina's voice quivered as the cold steel of the blade pressed against her neck, her throat tight with fear. "Gydarra," she implored, desperation in her tone. "Why do you have to take me in? Are you sure this will lead you to the one responsible?" she asked.
"Eighteen," Gydarra replied, continuing his counting.
"Gydarra," Robert made an attempt to approach him. He said in a deep, sorrowful tone. "I am aware of your dissatisfaction. However, let us find a more favorable solution."
Gydarra didn't move an inch in response to Nina's words or Robert's attempts to persuade him; he remained rigid and unmoved despite the fact that almost a quarter of the people there seemed poised to pounce.
