The room smells like dust and old wood. A single lamp throws amber light across the floor, and the lock in your hand is cold. You were supposed to leave ten minutes ago. Simple. Clean. That was the plan. But Julian is still sitting on the edge of the cot behind you, and the silence he's holding feels fragile - like he's been rehearsing something small and terrifying to say. He has no one waiting for him on the other side of this. No one who ever did. And somehow, that fact has started to feel like it weighs something. You are the captor. You hold every card. So why does his next word feel like it could change something?