"Ah yes, Tyrion, where were we?" Damien said as he slid a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the blood stains on his hand. Then he produced a small vile from his pocket and slowly placed it on the table along with another knife next to it.
Tyrion gulped as he saw what he was doing. On the table, he placed a recovery potion and beside it another knife which he produced from his leg. He will ask again for the answer and if he doesn't like it, the young master will bury the knife in his hands too, and if it's the other way then his friend, Roque will have the potion.
He looked at his friend. His tears had dried up, but he was whimpering. He clutched his free hand on the other very delicately as even a slight moment can cause him severe pain.
The young master lazily slouched back on the wooden chair, resting his hands freely on the arm bars, looking at Tyrion. "Talk," he said.
