"Good morning… you don't look happy at all," Trafalgar said, his tone calm, though his words carried the faint edge of provocation.
Across the room, Garrika's emerald eyes burned with fury as they locked onto him. She didn't hear his words as playful—she heard them as mockery.
"I will tear you apart," she snarled, her voice low and dangerous. "I don't care if you're a Morgain."
The chains clinked as she pulled against the cuffs. Her four limbs were still restrained, but Trafalgar could tell the restraints wouldn't hold forever. Once her strength returned fully, she could probably snap them like twigs.
On the sofa, Barth was curled up, knees close to his chest, trembling. His wide eyes darted nervously between Trafalgar and Garrika, as though the wrong move from either of them might end him.
