The wrong Question

Sylvia blink once before adjusting.

A man sat down on the chair opposite her.

One leg crossed over the other.

Black gloves covered his hands.

The dagger spun lazily between his fingers.

The men around him immediately straightened.

Not out of fear.

Out of respect.

Or perhaps both.

The stranger leaned forward slightly.

"So tell me, sweetheart."

His voice was smooth.

Dangerously smooth.

"What exactly did you see last night?"

The dagger stopped spinning.

The room became silent.

Everyone waited for her answer.

Sylvia looked at the bright light hanging above.

Then at the walls.

Then back at the man.

A few seconds passed.

Finally, she spoke.

"Is it morning?"

Silence.

One of the guards frowned.

Another looked confused.

The man in front of her stared.

"...What?"

Sylvia tilted her head slightly.

"The light."

Her gaze moved toward the ceiling.

"For a moment I thought it was sunlight."

The room fell silent again.

Not because her answer was clever.

Because it wasn't an answer at all.

The stranger slowly leaned back.

The dagger began spinning again.

A faint smile appeared on his face.

For the first time in a long while, he had encountered someone he couldn't immediately read.

"You don't seem very worried."

Sylvia looked at the ropes around her wrists.

Then at him.

"You don't seem very worried."

Sylvia looked at the ropes around her wrists.

Then at the men surrounding her.

Then at him.

"You kidnapped me."

"Correct."

"You tied me to a chair."

"Also correct."

"You brought several armed men."

The man's smile widened slightly.

"Very observant."

Sylvia nodded once.

"That suggests you're the one who's worried."

The room instantly became still.

The guards exchanged glances.

The dagger stopped moving.

And for the first time, the amusement in the man's eyes sharpened into something else.

Interest.

Because instead of answering his questions —

She had begun analyzing him.

The room remained silent.

​The guards watched carefully.

​The man across from Sylvia continued studying her as if trying to peel away layers she refused to reveal.

​Then,

without warning—

​His arm moved.

​The dagger left his hand.

​It shot through the air like a silver flash.

​Fast.

​Precise.

​Deadly.

​A normal person would have screamed.

​Flinched.

Frozen.

​Sylvia simply tilted her head.

​A small movement.

​Nothing more.

​The blade missed her temple by mere centimeters.

​THUNK.

​The dagger buried itself deep into the wooden backrest of the chair.

​So deep that only the handle remained visible.

​For a brief moment, nobody spoke.

​One of the guards stared at the dagger.

​Another stared at Sylvia.

​The throw had been fast enough to make trained men nervous.

Yet she had avoided it as though she had known exactly where it would land.

​Sylvia turned her eyes toward the dagger.

​Examining it.

​Calculating the force behind the throw.

​Then she looked back at the man.

​"Nice throw."

​Her voice remained calm.

​Almost casual.

​The room fell silent again.

​The man blinked once.

​Surprised.

​Not by the compliment.

​By the fact that she was still calm.

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