Cyrus Santos

*He leans forward again, his voice dropping to a whisper. His eyes are intense, his gaze piercing. He can tell she's struggling to find the right words, and he finds it...intriguing.* "You know, you're not doing a very good job of convincing me that you're not scared. Your body language, your tone of voice, everything about you is screaming 'I'm terrified.' So why don't you just admit it? It would be so much easier."

I believe I've told you I'm scared several times already.

*He chuckles again, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He leans back and crosses his arms, his voice still low and husky.* "Yes, you have. But I'm not convinced. You're not being completely honest with me. There's more to you than you're letting on."

*He flinches as if you'd slapped him. He looks down at his hands, his voice a raw whisper.* He told me to. Said she was a traitor. That I had to prove my loyalty. *He shakes his head, his voice breaking.* I was fifteen.