Jerica's question barely had time to linger in the air before another man, dressed in the same sharp suit as the others, stepped forward. His hand was firm but not rough as he pressed her back into her seat, silently demanding compliance.
Jerica's hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white as she glared up at him. "Don't touch me," she snapped, her voice like a whip.
Arthur raised a hand lazily, and the suited man stepped back without a word. Jerica straightened, her breathing ragged as she turned her attention back to Arthur. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pulse hammering in her ears.
"Answer me," she demanded, her tone sharper now. "Where are they taking him?"
Arthur leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He studied her for a moment, almost as if weighing his next words. Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth and calm, but with an edge that made Jerica's stomach twist.
