The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Dust motes floated lazily in the thin beams of light that managed to slip through the gaps, dancing like forgotten souls. A single lamp cast a weak glow over the cluttered desk, illuminating the face of the man who sat behind it.
Pablo Valdez leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers steepled, his expression cold and unreadable. His dark hair was streaked with gray, his eyes sharp and calculating. He was handsome in a harsh, predatory way made people uneasy, that made them want to look away but couldn't.
Pablo asked, his voice flat and dead. "How much are you adding? By now, she should be unstable. She should be breaking. I've been patient long enough."
The woman standing across from him shifted uncomfortably. Clara's face was lined with age and worry, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She wore a simple dress, her gray hair pinned back.
