Sally walked out of the interrogation room, stripping off her blood-soaked gloves and tossing them onto the tin tray held by the guard. The guard then locked the interrogation room door, sealing the sour stench mixed with the scent of blood inside, along with the prisoner, into the darkness.
Nothing was gained. The person Ethenrion had her interrogate was nothing more than a common adventurer. But Sally knew Ethenrion wouldn't be satisfied with that conclusion. He likely believed the adventurer was actually a tight-lipped spy. That wasn't the case, as she hadn't needed many methods to sense genuine fear and weakness from the prisoner: the eyes grew dull, and the screams dragged out from the depths of his throat were long and faint. So she stopped, letting him live for now.
If it were Ethenrion, he would have tortured the man to death. Such differences didn't give Sally any sense of superiority. After all, none of the adventurers interrogated in that room survived. Even if they withstood the torture and were deemed "innocent," they wouldn't receive any medical treatment. The Crusaders would release them, letting them die in the wilderness within a day.
The thought of how Ethenrion would use this tomorrow to trouble her made Sally furious. She was always quick to anger, but she couldn't show even a hint of that emotion in front of Ethenrion. After all, only through his recommendation could she be officially promoted to High Inquisitor.
She went home for dinner. Finding an extra grease stain on the plate, her accumulated anger drove her to flip the dish. As the servant hurriedly cleaned the floor, she looked at the red meat on the ground, remembering how, during the first week after her initial interrogation, she could barely eat any meat. But now, it was different. Food was food, and the blood and flesh of the prisoners were the prisoners' blood and flesh.
Back in her bedroom, she couldn't shake off the anger. She was angry with herself, uneasy about having to approach Ethenrion in every way: from interrogation techniques to a near-neurotic obsession with cleanliness. She knew he was too brutal to his comrades, but she trusted him and used him as a benchmark for her own actions.
That trust was strong enough for her to make that decision.