Bartolomeu lifted a hand again, signaling the end of the punishment.
He turned his gaze toward Orson, nodding once. A silent, wordless gesture that he could finally help his boss.
Orson sprang into action. He crouched down, gripping Duncan's arm, and hoisted him up, his heart pounding at the sight of the damage. Duncan's breaths were ragged, strained—then, suddenly, he choked and spat a mouthful of blood onto the cold floor.
His world swayed violently, the pain in his abdomen unbearable, but Orson managed to guide him toward the sofa opposite Bartolomeu. Duncan collapsed onto it, his body screaming in protest.
Across the room, Annie was finally released.
She wasted no time. Sprinting to the portable bar, she grabbed a bottle of water with trembling hands, then crouched down and yanked an unused rag from the storage beneath. Without hesitation, she drenched it in ice-cold water, fashioning a makeshift compress.
