The dim glow of the lantern cast long shadows across the room, its flickering light reflecting off the polished blade in Spy's gloved hand. He sat in his chair, watching Esdeath with his usual unreadable gaze, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. The flicker of the light played tricks on her expression, but Spy saw through the illusions—she was as composed as ever, an unsettling calm radiating from her despite her bindings.

Esdeath sat before him, bound securely to the wooden chair, her wrists and ankles wrapped in thick restraints. A gag covered her mouth, muffling whatever sharp words she might have thrown at him. Despite her predicament, she remained composed, her piercing blue eyes watching him with an unsettling sense of amusement. There was no fear, no frustration—only the same unwavering confidence that had made her such a formidable opponent. Spy had interrogated countless prisoners before, yet none had carried themselves with such poise.

Spy exhaled softly, slipping his knife back into its sheath. He moved with practiced ease, reaching forward to untie the gag first. As the cloth slipped from her lips, Esdeath took in a deep breath, stretching her jaw slightly before flashing him a smile that was far too confident for someone in chains.

"Taking your time, aren't you?" she mused, her voice as smooth as ever, her tone almost teasing.

Spy ignored the provocation and knelt beside her, loosening the bonds around her wrists with meticulous care. He had done this dance before—unbinding a dangerous opponent, knowing full well the risks. The weight of the moment pressed on him. Would she lash out? Try to freeze the room with her Teigu? He was ready for any of those possibilities. But Esdeath made no sudden movements, no attempt to escape.

As soon as the last restraint fell away, she flexed her fingers experimentally, as though savoring the regained freedom in her limbs. Her icy gaze flickered toward him, studying his every move, yet she made no effort to stand. If anything, she looked amused at how cautious he remained. The air between them grew heavier, neither breaking the silence.

Spy took a measured step back, always alert, always calculating. He had expected some resistance—a sudden strike, a desperate lunge, even an attempt at persuasion. But instead, Esdeath simply sat there, rolling her shoulders before tilting her head at him, an almost playful smirk curling her lips.

"You seem wary," she purred, her voice soft but filled with a knowing edge. "Afraid I might do something… reckless?"

Spy's expression remained unreadable. "Only a fool would think otherwise."

She chuckled softly, stretching her legs slightly against the chair's frame. "And yet, here I am. Still seated. Still behaving." Her words carried an unspoken challenge, daring him to question why she remained.

He didn't respond, merely watching her as she adjusted her posture. A predator at rest, but still a predator. Spy knew better than to lower his guard, even now. There was always a game being played, always a hidden motive beneath her actions.

After a long silence, she lifted her gaze to meet his. "You expected me to run?"

Spy remained still, weighing his words before answering. "I expected you to try."

Esdeath smiled, slow and knowing, before leaning forward just slightly, her expression one of dangerous amusement. "And ruin all the fun so soon?"

Spy said nothing, but his grip on his hidden blade remained firm. His mind was already calculating the next moves, thinking ahead. He had given her some freedom, but how much was too much? How long until she decided to make her move?

She stretched again, more deliberately this time, as if relishing the moment. "You're still trying to figure me out, aren't you?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid that I'll surprise you?"

Spy's eyes remained locked onto hers. "You are full of surprises, that much is certain."

Esdeath's smirk widened slightly. "Then I suppose it's only fair that I keep you guessing."

The words hung between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken battle waged not with weapons, but with wits. Whatever game she was playing, Spy had no intention of losing.

The clanking of heavy shackles echoed through the halls as Spy led Esdeath through the fortress corridors, her presence drawing immediate attention. Soldiers and mercenaries alike turned to watch, some stiffening at the sight of the infamous General in chains, while others exchanged wary glances. Even bound, even under the careful watch of the most dangerous man among them, she still exuded an air of quiet dominance. The sound of metal scraping against stone with every step only added to the unease settling over the fortress.

In the mess hall, the assembled members of the REDs—including the recently inducted Sheele and Bulat—and the defected Jaegers, Wave and Run, paused their conversations. Forks hovered mid-air, cups remained half-raised. All eyes locked onto the woman being escorted through their midst. Even the normally boisterous mercenaries, who had long since grown accustomed to chaos, found themselves transfixed by the sight.

Scout was the first to break the stunned silence. He pushed away from the table and approached Spy with hurried steps, his expression a mixture of disbelief and unease.

"Mate," Scout muttered under his breath, eyeing Esdeath warily. "Are we seriously lettin' her walk around? She's still Esdeath."

Spy barely turned his head, his expression as unreadable as ever. "She is no threat. Not yet."

Scout scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah? Try tellin' that to the poor bastards she iced. Literally."

A few murmurs rippled through the mess hall, the tension growing thicker with every passing second. Bulat and Wave exchanged wary glances, while Run pushed up his glasses, his analytical mind likely calculating the risks of this entire situation. Sheele, ever composed, merely watched with quiet curiosity, her fingers lightly drumming against the table.

Esdeath, for her part, seemed utterly unbothered by the collective stares. She walked with the same poise as if she were leading an army instead of being a prisoner. If anything, she seemed amused by the attention, her lips curving into a faint smirk. As Spy guided her to an empty seat, she sat with an elegant grace, her shackles rattling against the wooden bench. The sound made a few soldiers tense, but Esdeath paid them no mind.

A moment later, a tray of food was placed before her. She glanced at it briefly before picking up the utensils and beginning to eat, completely at ease, as if this were just another day. Her composure was unnerving, her every movement deliberate. She cut through the meal with the precision of a swordsman, chewing slowly, savoring every bite as if she were dining in a high-end restaurant rather than a military base full of enemies.

The sight unsettled many.

Soldier scowled but remained silent, gripping his fork like a weapon, his military instincts screaming at him to be on guard. Heavy, who had been eating in slow, thoughtful bites, merely stared at her with the unreadable gaze of a fellow warrior, recognizing in her the same deadly experience he himself carried. Medic, however, watched her with intrigue, his mind likely running a hundred experiments he could conduct—not on her as a subject, but rather on the fascinating circumstances of her presence. Demoman took a swig of his drink, shaking his head as if this entire situation was an elaborate joke, but there was a sharp glint in his eye—he wasn't letting his guard down either. Sniper barely looked up from his meal, but his rifle was propped up next to him, always within reach, his trained instincts keeping him keenly aware of her every move.

Sheele and Bulat remained silent, though Bulat's eyes flickered with concern. He had heard about Esdeath before; he knew what she was capable of, and her calm demeanor only made him warier. Sheele, on the other hand, regarded Esdeath with quiet curiosity, as if trying to unravel what lay beneath her composed exterior. She had never personally encountered Esdeath in battle, but stories of the general's cruelty and unmatched combat ability were well known. Wave fidgeted slightly, clearly uncomfortable with seeing his former commanding officer in chains but also knowing there was little he could do about it. His loyalties had long since shifted, but the sight of her restrained still felt surreal. Run adjusted his glasses, his calculating mind absorbing every detail—analyzing Esdeath's posture, her tone, her expressions—as if trying to predict her next move.

Tension thickened when Esdeath placed her utensils down and turned to Spy. "I must admit, I expected worse treatment. You're being rather… hospitable," she mused, tilting her head. "I wonder if that will last."

A few soldiers bristled at her casual remark. Even restrained, she wielded words like weapons, effortlessly commanding the room's attention.

Spy exhaled smoke from his cigarette, his expression neutral. "That depends entirely on you."

Esdeath chuckled softly, swirling the drink before her as if this were all some grand game. Her gaze swept across the assembled mercenaries, gauging their reactions, feeding off the unease she created simply by existing in their presence.

Spy watched her closely. He had spent his life reading people, manipulating their emotions, and anticipating their moves. Esdeath was a master at controlling a room, but he could see the subtle shifts in her demeanor. There was no fear, no anxiety—but there was calculation. She was adapting, analyzing her captors just as much as they were analyzing her.

Heavy's grip tightened on his sandwich, his usual carefree eating slowed to a halt. He had fought many soldiers in his lifetime, but Esdeath had the aura of a true predator. One that was not yet caged.

Soldier's lip curled in disdain. "I don't like this," he muttered under his breath, but he did not make a move. His orders were clear—Esdeath was to be kept alive, at least for now.

"Go on," Spy murmured. "Eat. Or stare. Your choice."

The tension did not dissipate, but the mercenaries slowly returned to their meals—though none took their eyes off Esdeath for long. They all knew that, chained or not, she was still one of the most dangerous people in the room. And she knew it too.

The trek back to Spy's quarters was a silent one. The clanking of Esdeath's chains echoed through the dimly lit corridors, yet the infamous General made no effort to resist. She walked beside him with the same unshakable confidence she had displayed throughout the meal, utterly indifferent to the glares and whispers of the mercenaries in the mess hall. Her poise was unnerving. Even restrained, even surrounded by enemies, she projected an air of complete control, as if she were the one escorting Spy rather than the other way around.

Spy, of course, noticed everything. The way she carried herself, the subtle smirk tugging at her lips as though she found the situation amusing, the unwavering control in her every step. She was making a statement—prisoner or not, she was still Esdeath. The others saw her as a monster in chains. He saw her as something far more dangerous: a woman who refused to acknowledge the concept of defeat.

When they reached his quarters, he guided her inside and wordlessly secured her to a sturdy chair. Leather straps replaced the crude ropes used before, ensuring she wouldn't slip free without his say. He worked efficiently, making sure the bindings were tight but not cruel. Spy had done this a thousand times, binding marks, ensuring their compliance, extracting what he needed. And yet, this was different. Esdeath was different.

She watched him the entire time, her icy blue eyes studying every movement. Not a single struggle, no resistance. It was an unsettling contrast. Was it compliance, or was it the amusement of a predator toying with its captor?

Still, he wasn't naïve. Esdeath was a predator, and even the most restrained predator could still bite.

The room was dimly illuminated by the glow of a single lantern, casting long shadows along the walls. The flickering light made Esdeath's pale skin glow in an almost ethereal manner, her expression unreadable. Spy pulled up a chair of his own, exhaling a trail of smoke as he met her gaze. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched between them, taut and electric, as if waiting for someone to break it.

Then, at last, Spy spoke.

"Let us cut through the pleasantries, mademoiselle." His voice was smooth, controlled, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath the calm. "What is your endgame?"

Esdeath blinked once before tilting her head slightly, amusement flickering in her eyes. "You are not stupid. You know how this will end."

Spy took a slow drag from his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "Indulge me."

Esdeath studied him, as if deciding whether to entertain his request. Then, for the first time, her smirk faltered—just slightly. A flicker of something more profound crossed her features. Spy saw it. The briefest hesitation. The moment where the practiced arrogance of the conqueror wavered, revealing something else beneath the mask.

"My father once told me," she began, her voice quiet yet unwavering, "that the world belongs to the strong. That the weak exist only to be trampled beneath them. When I was a child, I watched my clan slaughtered, devoured by the very creatures we hunted. The ones who survived were those who were ruthless enough to adapt." She met his gaze, her expression sharp. "I learned that lesson well."

Spy remained impassive, but inwardly, he noted every crack in her usual mask. He had expected defiance, arrogance—but this? This was something else. This was the philosophy of a woman shaped by a merciless world, a woman who had built herself into an unrelenting force to ensure she would never be at its mercy again.

She continued, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. "Those who hesitate, who show weakness, they fall. I have never allowed myself that luxury."

Spy flicked ash into a nearby tray. "And yet, you let yourself be captured. You are not fighting to escape. Why?"

A small chuckle escaped Esdeath's lips. "Curious, aren't you?"

Spy did not respond. He simply watched, waiting.

Esdeath sighed, tilting her head back slightly as if in thought. "Because this is not over," she admitted. "Not yet."

There it was. A sliver of truth.

Spy recognized the opportunity, and like any master of deception, he seized it. "You claim to live by strength alone, yet here you are—powerless. Tell me, General, how does it feel?"

For the first time since her capture, Esdeath did not have an immediate answer. She stared at him, the usual amusement absent from her features. The silence between them grew heavier, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on the space they shared.

Spy took another drag of his cigarette, letting the embers glow in the darkness. He leaned in slightly, voice lower now, more deliberate. "Perhaps," he mused, "You are not as free as you think,"

Esdeath's lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but for once, she hesitated. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet Spy caught it. A moment of weakness, a seed of doubt.

He leaned back, taking his time as he exhaled a thin trail of smoke. "Strength, power—these are the things you claim to value above all else. Yet you sit here, bound and at my mercy. Tell me, General, does it not feel... limiting?"

For a fleeting second, her expression hardened. But then, something remarkable happened—she laughed. A soft, melodic sound, utterly devoid of concern.

"Ah, mon amour," she purred, tilting her head slightly. "You think you have me cornered?" Her gaze locked onto his, sharp as a blade. "You think that because I am bound, I am powerless?"

Spy offered no immediate reply. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, his gaze unwavering. He knew the game she was playing, the deflection, the confidence—he had played it himself countless times.

But he was not the one chained to a chair.

"You wear your strength like a shield," Spy finally said, flicking the ashes of his cigarette into the tray. "But even the strongest armor has its cracks. And whether you wish to admit it or not, you have shown me one."

Esdeath's smirk returned, but it was smaller now, less self-assured. A flicker of something deeper lurked beneath it.

"You truly are fascinating," she mused, eyes gleaming. "Of all the men I've encountered, you might be the first to truly intrigue me."

Spy met her gaze steadily. "Then let me return the sentiment, ma chère." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I do not trust you."

Esdeath chuckled. "And yet, here we are. You sit before me, probing my mind, searching for something. What is it you hope to find?"

Spy stubbed out his cigarette and stood, stepping behind her. His hands moved deftly, tightening the bindings at her wrists. This time, she did not resist. But she felt the firm grip of the leather, the undeniable proof that—for now—she was at his mercy.

He reached for the gag, securing it into place. She didn't struggle. Instead, she watched him, eyes filled with amusement. A challenge.

As the fabric pressed against her lips, Esdeath's muffled voice carried through, a teasing hum beneath the restraint. "Mmmph..." Her eyes gleamed with playful defiance, the corners of her mouth tugging upward despite the gag. Even bound, she exuded confidence, as if daring Spy to think this would silence her spirit.

Spy's fingers lingered at the edges of the fabric, and for a moment, he considered asking her more. Pressing further. But he knew better. Esdeath would not break so easily—if at all. He was dealing with someone who had embraced the concept of survival of the fittest since childhood. Yet in that one hesitation, in the flicker of something softer, Spy saw something invaluable: doubt.

"I do not need to break you, Esdeath," Spy murmured in her ear, fastening the last restraint. "You will do that yourself."

Esdeath's eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something thrilling. Even as she remained bound, unable to speak, she radiated defiance. A challenge that would not be met so easily.

Spy took one last glance at her before stepping back, straightening his coat. The psychological battle had begun, and he had won the first round. But Esdeath was nothing if not relentless. He would have to be careful.

As he turned toward the door, he heard the faintest sound behind him—muffled, amused, confident. A smirk hidden behind the gag. She was waiting.

Spy's grip on his cigarette holder tightened. The battle was far from over.