Snippet #2586970

"Yes, that much I had gathered for myself. I see I will learn nothing more until I pass the threshold." He lifted the cup to Teones. "Your health," he said, and drank. It looked like milk but tasted like blood, bright metal and salt, the memory of pain. He drank it to the dregs, head tipped back so the muscles of his neck stood out like cable.

He more than half expected something to happen, some crippling agony revealing his deceit, or for their control to seize hold of his bones. For truth to come spilling from his lips. But he drank and felt nothing but the deepening cold. Lowering the cup, he sought the eyes behind the mask, and resolved to strangle his pathetic informer.