Zarek stopped outside room 412.
He paused near the shattered frame, his torn jumpsuit soaked in dark fluid, his left arm throbbing with a dull, heavy heat where the mutant’s teeth had ripped through skin. He pulled a dirty rag from his pocket, wiped the remaining black grease off his jaw, and shoved the door open with his boot.
Elsa was still huddled in the corner by the bathroom, her back pressed hard against the plaster. The bottle of water and the energy bar lay on the desk where he had thrown them. She hadn’t touched either. Her fingers were locked around the neck of the brass table lamp, her knuckles paper-white, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as her bloodshot eyes tracked him entering the room.
He closed the door behind him with a dry click. He didn’t lock it . The lock was shattered anyway and he didn’t rush toward her.
He pulled the wooden desk chair out, turned it around, and sat down facing her, resting his elbows on the backrest. The bent iron pipe dangled casually from his right fingers, tapping against the hardwood floor with a soft, rhythmically steady thud.
"Still holding the lamp," Zarek said. His voice was flat, carrying no anger, no impatience, and no threat. Just a statement of fact.
Elsa’s jaw twitched. Her lips were cracked and dry, a thin line of dried blood marking the corner of her mouth. "Get out."
He didn’t move. He looked at the unopened bottle of water on the desk, then back at her.
"You’re dehydrated," he said calmly. "You’re already weak. If I wanted to take that lamp from you, you wouldn’t even finish swinging it before I broke your wrist."
"Try it," she rasped, her voice trembling despite her attempt to make it firm.
"Why would I try?" He tilted his head. "I don’t need to fight you, Elsa. I can just wait. You’re already dehydrated and exhausted. Give it some time and you won’t even have the strength to lift that lamp. And then what?"
He gestured toward the shattered doorway with his chin.
"The creature you killed on the landing wasn’t alone. There are three more roaming the lower stairwell right now. They smell the blood from the one I just killed outside your door. Eventually, one of them will push through this frame. When it does, you’ll be too weak to scream, let alone swing an ashtray."
Elsa swallowed hard, her throat making a dry, clicking sound. Her eyes flickered toward the water on the desk, a split-second flash of animal craving that she tried desperately to suppress.
"You think you’re my savior?" she spat, glaring at him with pure disgust. "You’re just another monster taking advantage of the dark."
"I never said I was a saviour," He replied smoothly. He stood up from the chair.
He stood up and took a step toward her.
Elsa flinched, pulling her shoulders tighter into the wall, her arms straining as she raised the lamp an inch higher. "Stay back!"
Zarek took another step. Now he stood over her, blocking the moonlight from the shattered window. The smell of blood and sweat coming off his clothes made her stomach turn.
"A savior lies to you," Zarek said softly, leaning down slightly so his eyes were level with hers. "A savior promises that everything will go back to normal. That help is coming. That the military will clear the streets. I don’t lie to you, Elsa. Help isn’t coming. The city is gone. The rules are gone."
He reached out, his long, calloused fingers wrapping around the neck of the brass lamp right above her hands.
Elsa tried to pull back, tried to swing it, but Zarek’s grip was like a steel vise. He didn’t yank it away. He simply held it in place, and she couldn’t move it.
"Let go," she whispered, her voice cracking as a tear cut through the plaster dust on her cheek.
"Look at me," Zarek commanded.
His voice wasn’t loud, but Elsa still looked up at him. His expression didn’t change. He was looking at her like he was deciding whether she was worth the trouble.
"I am offering you survival," Zarek said. "I provide food, clean water, protection, and a way out of this tomb. In return, you surrender your autonomy to me. Your strength, your loyalty, and your body belong to me. When I tell you to stand, you stand. When I take you, you submit."
"I’d rather die," she choked out, her fingers still desperately gripping the lamp beneath his.
Zarek sneered.
"No, you wouldn’t," he said flatly. "If you wanted to die, you would have let that hound rip your throat out an hour ago. You fought it off with a piece of marble because you want to live. You want to breathe. You’re terrified of dying in this dark room, rotting in your own waste until something chews through your ribs."
He released his grip on the lamp and reached for the bottle of water on the desk. He unscrewed the cap with one hand, the plastic ring snapping with a sharp pop, and held the open bottle two inches from her lips.
"Drink," he ordered.
Elsa stared at the clear liquid. Her tongue felt thick and useless. Her whole body screamed at her to grab it.
"If I take it..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the faint wind howling outside, "I’m giving up everything."
"You have nothing to give up," Zarek corrected cold-bloodedly. "You are broke, trapped, and defenseless. The only thing you have left is your body to survive. And right now, I am the only just buying it."
He didn’t move the bottle closer or force her to drink. He simply waited.
Elsa’s hands trembled so violently that the brass lamp slid from her numb fingers, thudding uselessly onto the carpet. Tears spilled over her lashes, tracing clean streaks down her dirty face. She looked at the dark corridor outside, then up at Zarek’s expressionless eyes.
She knew what he was. He was a psychopath who viewed her as nothing more than a tool to be claimed. But in a world turned into an open slaughterhouse, his uncompromising strength was the only thing standing between her and total destruction.
With a ragged, broken sob, Elsa reached up with both hands, grabbed the plastic bottle, and pressed it to her lips.
She drank frantically, water spilling down her chin, soaking into her torn collar as she gulped down half the bottle in seconds.
Zarek watched her drink. A small smile appeared on his face.
He reached down, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her effortlessly to her feet. Elsa stumbled against his chest, her hands clutching weakly at his blood-soaked jumpsuit for balance.
He hooked his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back until her neck was exposed, his breath hot against her skin.
"Good choice, Elsa," Zarek murmured softly against her ear. "Now let’s complete the contract."