A Test of Loyalty

The air in Ravine’s opulent apartment was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the usual undercurrent of danger that clung to her like expensive perfume. Tina sat on the edge of a plush velvet armchair, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the rug, a nervous habit she’d developed whenever Ravine’s moods shifted from volcanic to unnervingly calm. It was this calm, Tina had learned, that was the most terrifying.

Ravine stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her back to Tina, silhouetted against the muted glow of the city. The silence stretched, taut and brittle, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic and the frantic beat of Tina’s own heart. She hadn’t seen Ravine this withdrawn since the incident with the warehouse, a blur of flashing lights and guttural shouts that still sometimes flickered behind her eyelids in the dead of night.

“He wants to talk,” Ravine finally said, her voice dangerously low, devoid of its usual gravelly edges. It was a voice that had learned to whisper threats, to purr seduction, and now, to cut with icy precision.