The roaring rush of water abruptly ceased, plunging the confined space into a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint hum of machinery and Silas's ragged, freezing breaths.
A biting chill clung to Silas, his chest heaving with every jagged, frozen breath. His body shivered violently against his will as layers of darkness swam before his eyes, threatening to swallow him whole.
"What now?" one of the men in black asked quietly.
The Archmage’s voice was devoid of emotion. "Keep him alive. If he dies, we lose our leverage."
Pacing slowly toward him, the older man looked down at Silas’s battered but unyielding frame. A sinister, mocking smirk touched his lips as he finally played his ultimate trump card.
"I admit, I underestimated you," he murmured darkly. "Family ties couldn't sway you, and torture couldn't break you. Mr. Summers, you truly live up to your reputation."
"But did you really think you had no weaknesses?"
The moment the words hung in the air, Silas’s shallow breathing faltered.
It was a primal, bone-deep reflex—a jolt of vigilance that pierced through his numbed senses, obliterating the pain with sheer adrenaline.
Catching that microscopic shift, The Archmage’s smile widened into something truly sadistic as he leaned close to Silas’s freezing ear.
"Your wife, Lead Rossi, is currently enjoying my hospitality."
His tone was conversational, yet it was a deadlier blow than any physical torment or familial betrayal.
Silas’s lowered lashes trembled. A sudden, violent crack fractured the dead calm of his dark eyes, unleashing a tempest of panic and lethal fury.
"You have a high pain tolerance, but I wonder how much your lovely wife can endure," The Archmage drawled, relishing his absolute control.
"Rumor has it that the ruthless, untouchable Silas Summers only has a soft spot for her. You two are supposed to be having a grand wedding, aren't you?"
"If I were you, I’d choose a mutually beneficial partnership. A man born into your kind of wealth shouldn't be wasting his life as a public servant."

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