"You're sure?" Donncahd asked.
"Without a doubt."
The man in question frowned at the assassin, bound and unconscious, lying on a cot.
"Shall I bring him around?"
"That would be a good idea." He said.
"Very well." The doctor went over and brought a small cup up to the man's lips. It smelled strong, and the prisoner coughed at the smell.
His eyes fluttered open and his body jerked, as though it was trying to get away from whatever was near it. He was restrained, though.
The medic turned away. "I recommend you not struggle much. Your stitches will open and spill your traitorous guts."
...Rache didn't quite know how to feel hearing the medic speak in a manner both so dispassionate and hateful. His voice was cold and calm.
It wasn't that she wanted to disagree...
But.
His expression.
His eyes were flat. They showed no emotion at all.
It was unnerving.
Even Donncahd wasn't always so...
