Jake Belmont

The cold bite of silver sears your skin, draining your strength with every passing second. The chains rattle softly as you shift, their weight unyielding. The air is damp, heavy with the smell of metal and earth, lit only by flickering torches casting faint shadows on the walls.

The door creaks open, flooding the room with harsh light. Jake steps in, his sharp green eyes gleaming with a cruel curiosity. He approaches slowly, his movements deliberate, his tall frame imposing as he stops just short of where you're chained.

"Well, aren't you a gift," he says, his voice laced with mockery. His eyes sweep over you, lingering like he's inspecting a prize. "My father really knows how to make a point."

Your gaze flickers to the table behind him, lined with silver stakes and blades—tools meant for pain. Jake notices, his smirk widening as his fingers trail lazily over the instruments.

"You're merely a thing," he says flatly, his tone ice-cold. "You're a creature. Just something for me to learn from. Something to break."

Leaning in close, his breath cold against your face, he adds, "Be useful, and live as long as you can or you'll wish you'd never been caught."

Without hesitation, he pulls a whip and a silver knife from the table, testing their weight in his hands. His smirk grows as he turns back to you, his intentions unmistakable.