Assassin's Creed: Destiny of Souls

Chapter 7

As Claire's vision sharpened, the stark white lab walls came into focus like the edges of a blade, cold and unforgiving. The clarity of her surroundings seemed to cut through the fog in her mind, and the sterile light overhead cast a harsh glare on the two figures standing over her: Alan Rikkin and Sofia. Their expressions were impassive, statuesque, exuding a quiet, contained menace that filled the room. Alan Rikkin's face held an unbroken calm, his gaze assessing, as though he was deciding whether she was still useful. Sofia's eyes were detached, her posture as calculated as her father's, watching Claire with the cold indifference of a scientist appraising a malfunctioning experiment.

A wave of pain crashed over Claire as she attempted to adjust her position on the hard metal bed. Her muscles were tightly bound with tension from the violent desynchronization, each limb feeling leaden and unresponsive. The effort of simply breathing sent ripples of soreness through her chest and ribs, as though every inhale scraped her insides with sharp, unrelenting edges. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to swallow against the raw ache in her throat, her body protesting even this small movement.

"Good to see you awake, Ms. Morandi," Alan Rikkin's voice cut through the silence, smooth yet edged with an unmistakable undertone of irritation. His gaze was cold, piercing, like a hawk zeroing in on a wounded animal. "That was incredibly stupid of you."

Claire forced herself to meet his gaze, even as a fresh wave of nausea crept up her spine. Her vision wavered momentarily, and she bit the inside of her cheek, grounding herself against the swirling fog of pain. The bitterness of her own blood filled her mouth, something solid to focus on, a bitter taste that reminded her she was still here, still alive, despite everything they had put her through.

Sofia stood slightly behind her father, her hands clasped in front of her, watching with that familiar clinical detachment. She looked at Claire like a malfunctioning asset that needed recalibrating—a tool that had momentarily slipped out of alignment. Claire's defiance stirred within her, but her body refused to follow; she was too weak, too drained to project the strength she wanted them to see. Every muscle was a battlefield of tension, locked tight and unresponsive, the aftermath of the desynchronization still clawing at her nerves.

"You went to great lengths to avoid finding the Shroud," Rikkin continued, his voice sharpened by an edge of irritation as he stepped closer, his gaze scrutinizing her with disdain. His presence bore down on her, suffocating, but Claire steeled herself, forcing her trembling body to remain still.

Her throat felt like sandpaper, raw and parched, but she refused to give them any further satisfaction. With effort, she forced her gaze to harden, a flicker of defiance simmering in her eyes despite the exhaustion that weighed on her. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely more than a rasp, strained but resolute.

"You won't... get anything... from me."

Rikkin's face remained stoic, though she thought she saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, as though her defiance was exactly what he expected, perhaps even what he wanted. A smug calm settled into his features, and he seemed to relish the moment, watching her like a spider observing a fly caught in its web.

"Oh, I think we will," he said smoothly. "You see, Claire, when people refuse to cooperate, we are left with no choice but to leverage alternative methods of motivation."

A chill crept down her spine, the dread curling low in her gut, even as she fought to keep her expression impassive. Her pulse quickened, every beat a reminder of the thin line she walked, each breath sharp and painful as she waited, bracing herself for the threat that was undoubtedly coming.

Rikkin paused, his gaze unyielding, the silence heavy and deliberate before he finally continued, each word like a blade slicing through the air.

"Your brother, Callum," he said, his voice low and deliberate, each syllable weighed down with calculated cruelty. "He's been in prison for six years now, awaiting trial. And recently, a decision has been reached: Callum has been sentenced to death."