Rondo had never expected to survive. After entering the cell, he had not said a single word.
He had been born in Freehold, and both his parents were pirates. Rondo had rarely made his own choices. The pressure to survive had forced him to play the role of a pirate.
But when he faced death, his memories of the past seemed to become a lifeline.
Rondo found a reason to live.
I was someone whose future was twisted by his surroundings. Nobody was born wanting to become a pirate. I simply had no choice.
Candlelight illuminated the dark, damp dungeon, and the wooden door at the end of the corridor slowly opened.
Rondo took a deep breath and waited for his fate.
The footsteps drew closer. Rondo looked up and saw a young boy.
The jailer brought Rowan a wooden chair, and he sat down opposite Rondo.
To Rowan, interrogating a prisoner was a sheer waste of time. He had volunteered to visit the cell this time with another purpose in mind.
Leonard had said that the prisoner they had captured seemed to be suffering from depression, rather than behaving like a man awaiting death. He did not spend every day in the dungeon screaming hysterically or losing his mind and venting his despair through every means available.
Rowan had volunteered to play the psychiatrist. While gathering intelligence, he would also help Rondo work through his psychological problems. Perhaps he would discover something else.
Treating enemies kindly was a way to break them down faster.
Turncoats were such fascinating creatures. They were even more interesting when they appeared in the enemy camp.
After a few brief pleasantries, Rowan explained why he had come.
Rondo offered no resistance. His eyes were blank, his lips twitched incessantly, and his face was tense.