Suki's apartment feels strangely foreign, like someone else's shadowed memory. Her keys tremble softly in her hand, the metallic jangle muted by the suffocating stillness that envelops her. Something isn't right, she feels it in the heavy, stale air that hangs motionless in her lungs, in the subtle disturbance of familiar surroundings.

Careful, cautious, her heart a staccato of dread, Suki slips silently into the apartment. A dim glow from the bathroom spills out, casting long shadows on the hallway floor. The sound of water pounds against tile, harsh, rhythmic, a cascade of suspicion.

Her pulse quickens, adrenaline sharpening every nerve. She draws her gun, the cool metal comforting yet terrifying against her palm, its weight grounding her spiraling thoughts. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, she moves forward, every step measured, senses alive to even the smallest vibration.

Steam seeps out through the cracked bathroom door, caressing her skin, thick and hot. Her finger flexes softly around the trigger as she gently pushes open the door.

Dex stands beneath the shower's unrelenting spray, water cascading over his hunched form. Blood, so vivid, so red, swirls down his bare skin, forming grotesque patterns across the white porcelain beneath his feet. Suki's breath catches harshly in her throat.

He doesn't react immediately. Dex knows she's there, yet he remains in his darkened trance, scrubbing slowly, methodically. She watches in horrified fascination, heart twisted painfully by the quiet horror unfolding before her. The steam creates an almost surreal mist around him, lending a dreamlike quality to the nightmare she's found herself living.

After an endless moment, she speaks. Her voice comes out hoarse, barely audible over the water's relentless pulse.

"Whose blood is that?"

Dex's movements halt, his hands lingering mid-motion. He turns his head slowly, droplets running in streams down his expressionless face. His eyes are distant, disturbingly calm, devoid of remorse or distress.

"Not mine," He answers quietly, evenly. As if discussing something mundane, weather, dinner, something benign.

Suki's stomach turns violently, fear and dread clashing with the strange flutter of relief that it isn't his blood staining her tiles.

Dex shuts off the water abruptly, silence crashing violently in its wake. He steps out from the shower, rivulets of water still trailing down his skin, tracing over taut muscles, glistening scars, each a story of violence he's unwilling to tell. Suki doesn't move, doesn't flinch. Her gun remains at her side, fingers tightening almost painfully on its grip.

Dex meets her gaze without flinching, towel draped casually around his waist. He approaches with calm, predatory confidence, brushing past her toward the bedroom, unbothered by her visible turmoil.

Suki's heart pounds erratically. She turns, watching as Dex casually drops the towel to the floor, unapologetic, unashamed of the raw vulnerability and danger he represents. Each move calculated, deliberate. Her mind screams warnings her heart refuses to hear. She feels caught between desperate fear and undeniable longing.

She swallows, throat tight, "Dex..."

He pauses, pulling on a fresh shirt with unhurried ease, turning slightly toward her, eyebrow raised, mouth curving in a darkly affectionate smirk.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

She inhales sharply at the casual term of endearment, at the strange gentleness in his voice that contrasts sharply with the brutality painted in blood only moments ago. Her heart twists painfully, because it feels good to be called that by him, because despite all reason, she wants to hear it again and again.

"What did you do?" She whispers, voice tight with suppressed panic, eyes searching his carefully composed face for any flicker of remorse. There is none.

Dex finishes buttoning his shirt, eyes never wavering from hers, a chilling yet mesmerizing calm radiating from him,"I handled it. I needed...clarity."

Suki's voice is strained, "How many?"

He doesn't blink, doesn't waver. His stare pierces straight into her soul, "Enough."

Her fingers tremble on the gun's grip. She wants to scream, to cry, to run, to do something, anything other than stand here frozen in place, caught in Dex's gravity. But she remains rooted, anchored by an emotion stronger than logic, heavier than morality.

Dex reaches toward her, fingertips tracing softly along her cheek, startlingly gentle despite the rough calluses and violent intent hidden beneath his skin, "We're being called in. You should get ready."

Suki shivers beneath his touch, "Called in by the Bureau or Fisk?"

Dex's mouth quirks, a dark amusement flickering behind those piercing eyes, "Take a guess, sweetheart."

Her eyes narrow, frustration and fear flaring alongside helpless affection. She can't stand the situation they're trapped in, illegal, dangerous, lethal. Yet, despite her intelligence, despite every instinct and training and warning bell ringing furiously inside her head, she can't walk away from Dex. Not now. Not ever.

She's too far gone. Trapped by love, a love that burns as fiercely as it destroys.

She exhales slowly, shoulders slumping slightly, resignation evident in the softening lines around her eyes. His fingers drift slowly down her neck, tracing a path along her collarbone, his gaze burning into hers, hypnotic and unrelenting. She breathes, eyes filling slowly with tears she refuses to shed.

Dex's expression shifts, flickering briefly with something softer, more human, beneath the ruthless predator's mask. His voice lowers, genuine vulnerability seeping in for the briefest moment, "I need you here."

The rawness of that admission pierces straight through her defenses. Suki leans into his touch unconsciously, even as her heart screams protests. She wants to save him, to pull him from the abyss. But Dex is the abyss itself, and she's willingly stepping closer and closer to the edge.

Dex cups her face gently, eyes fierce, compelling, "We have to go. Fisk is waiting."

She nods slowly, heart aching as reality floods back in, the hotel, the darkness, the twisted allegiance they've formed. She feels sickened yet comforted by his touch, by his presence.

"Promise me," She whispers shakily, gripping his wrists, holding his gaze firmly, "Promise me you won't lose control again."

Dex's expression flickers, guilt and anger warring beneath his careful mask. He presses his forehead softly against hers, breath mingling in shared turmoil, "I promise."

Suki closes her eyes briefly, knowing deep down that his promise means nothing, that the man she loves is dangerous, volatile, deadly. But her heart clings desperately to the lie, to the soft tenderness he shows only her.

She knows she's intelligent. Knows she's making a mistake. But her heart makes its own choices, ignoring reason and logic, driven solely by love.

And now she's lost to it, trapped by it.

Forever bound to the monster she chose to love.

—

The hallway on the top floor hums with quiet activity, footsteps muted against plush carpeting, whispers of other FBI agents echoing softly against polished walls. A stark, ominous calm blankets the entire space, oppressive enough to press the air from Suki's lungs.

Dex stands rigidly beside her, back flattened against the wall like a soldier at uneasy attention, eyes narrowed, calculating. She can feel the tension radiating off him, a feverish, electric pulse beneath his carefully composed exterior. Suki watches him carefully from the corner of her eye, wary of the quiet storm gathering within.

The metallic ring of the detectors echoes sharply as Vanessa's belongings are methodically wheeled past them. Each box and trunk carried through is another silent proclamation of Fisk's power, another piece of evidence that they are no longer agents, they're just pawns in a game played from higher ground.

Then Fisk himself emerges into view, an aura of quiet, unstoppable authority surrounding him. Vanessa's slender hand is clasped gently in his, her presence elegant yet chillingly aloof. They pass silently, footsteps echoing quietly, a fleeting glance from Fisk toward Dex before he dismisses him entirely.

Dex's jaw tightens painfully at the cold disregard, eyes burning dangerously with a suppressed desperation. Suki can almost feel his pulse quicken, hear the frantic beat of his heart against her own. Fisk's dismissal stings Dex deeply, fracturing his carefully maintained calm.

"Sir--" Dex says abruptly, stepping forward, voice tense, urgent.

Fisk barely slows, voice distant and indifferent, "Not now."

Dex's breath quickens, anxiety seeping visibly beneath his skin, "It's important--"

Fisk interrupts sharply, eyes hard, leaving no room for argument, "Not now."

Dex stands frozen, fists clenched at his sides, eyes following Fisk's receding back into the penthouse suite. A look of abandonment flickers across his face, quickly replaced by barely-contained fury. His entire body is a coiled spring, ready to snap.

Suki doesn't speak, doesn't move. Carefully, almost instinctively, she reaches out, fingers gently brushing against his palm, taking his hand. She rubs her thumb softly over the sharp ridges of his knuckles, an unspoken reassurance, an anchor in the storm raging beneath Dex's still exterior.

Dex stands rigidly, eyes distant, teeth gritted, lost in dark thoughts. After a heartbeat, her voice breaks the heavy silence, soft and cautious.

"What's wrong?"

Dex's jaw tightens further, gaze darkening to something dangerous and unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, tense, barely audible, meant only for her ears, "Nadeem is missing."

Suki's heart skips sharply, the sudden realization hitting like a wave of icy water. Ray, missing? A thousand implications swirl in her mind, each darker than the last. Ray had been slipping for days, struggling beneath the weight of Fisk's hold, resisting in subtle ways Dex refused to acknowledge.

She tightens her grip gently, voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts, "What do you mean, missing?"

Dex's grip tightens, knuckles whitening, the delicate bones of her hand slowly crushed beneath his uncontrolled strength. His breathing quickens further, shallow, panicked, borderline hysterical beneath his composed mask.

"He disappeared. I checked," He whispers harshly, desperation coloring his voice, "No one knows where he is. Nobody. Fisk, Fisk isn't listening to me. He's brushing me off like I'm nothing."

Suki gasps softly, pain flaring sharply from Dex's bruising grip, but she holds fast, refusing to pull away. She studies his face carefully, seeing clearly the madness flickering behind his eyes," That hurts."

He doesn't register her words at first, too lost in his own spiraling thoughts, his own panicked realization that his grip on control is faltering yet again. She can see the edges fraying, his sanity splintering like fragile glass beneath the immense pressure.

"Dex," She whispers again urgently, eyes wide, fingers trembling from the sharp pain radiating through her hand, "You're hurting me!"

His eyes snap down abruptly, awareness flooding back sharply, his gaze settling on their joined hands. Suki's skin is already darkening, the bruise blooming violently beneath his relentless grip. He releases her immediately, stepping back sharply, horrified by what he's done.

"Oh, oh, shit," He breathes raggedly, eyes wide, frantic, filling rapidly with unshed tears, "Suki, I didn't, I didn't realize--"

"It's okay," She murmurs quickly, despite the burning ache radiating from her hand, carefully flexing her fingers to reassure him that nothing's broken, though the pain remains sharp and insistent. Her heart aches more than her hand, seeing the raw vulnerability in Dex's frantic gaze, the terror that he's losing himself again.

Dex stumbles slightly, breathing harsh, shallow, panic consuming his features, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Hey," Suki says softly, calmly, stepping closer again, voice soothing despite the fear pounding beneath her ribs, "Look at me. Look at me."

He forces his eyes upward slowly, visibly trembling, his breathing ragged, uneven. His voice cracks slightly, vulnerable beneath his dangerous exterior, "I don't, I don't want to hurt you. I can't," He swallows sharply, choking slightly on his panic.

" It's okay, Dex," She whispers gently, cupping his face with her unbruised hand, guiding his frantic eyes to hers.

He shakes his head slightly, eyes wild, disbelieving, "But Nadeem, if he's missing, that means--"

"Stop," She says firmly, urgently, holding his gaze with fierce intensity, "You can't panic right now. Fisk will handle it."

Dex's eyes harden slightly at Fisk's name, conflict flashing violently behind his gaze. Loyalty wars brutally with betrayal, trust with suspicion, reason with madness, "Fisk wouldn't, he wouldn't keep that from me, right? He trusts me. He needs me."

Suki hesitates, seeing the desperation in Dex's eyes, the raw need for reassurance. Despite knowing better, she lies softly, convincingly, "Fisk wouldn't betray you."

Dex exhales slowly, a small fraction of his tension easing slightly, though his eyes remain clouded, "If Nadeem flipped, if he's talking, I'll have to kill him, Su. You know that, right?"

The words strike her sharply, a chill cascading violently through her veins. She nods slowly, swallowing painfully, choosing to suppress the moral scream rising inside her chest. She whispers quietly, voice hoarse with restrained grief, "I know."

Dex's breathing steadies slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. His hand hovers carefully above hers, afraid to touch again, afraid to cause her more pain. His whispered apology is filled with painful sincerity, "I'm sorry. I won't, I'll never hurt you again."

She nods slowly, her bruised hand tingling sharply, heart aching beneath the weight of his promise, knowing deep down it's a vow he can't keep.

And still, she takes his trembling hand once more, their fingers intertwining painfully, desperately.

—

Dex and Suki have stood guard throughout the night, exhaustion creeping into their bones, muscles aching from hours spent in silent vigilance. The silence, the weight of unspoken words, hovers thickly between them, heavy enough to suffocate.

Finally, morning comes, quiet and somber. Dex silently collects Fisk's breakfast tray, an immaculately arranged plate, silverware gleaming precisely, every detail arranged meticulously. Suki's gaze lingers on Dex's rigid shoulders as he disappears toward Fisk's penthouse suite, a wave of unease rolling through her stomach.

As Dex slips away, Suki straightens, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She moves down the hallway, quiet footsteps echoing softly against marble tiles, eyes sharp and observant. She notes the placement of every guard, memorizing each position, each watchful stare cast her way. Their gazes trail her as she passes, silent suspicion burning from their eyes, heavy enough to send chills along her spine. Each man she passes is another reminder that she and Dex are now entrenched in Fisk's web, a dangerous game with uncertain endings.

Her mind inevitably drifts to Ray Nadeem, his disappearance gnawing quietly at her conscience. She silently hopes he's found shelter, safety somewhere unreachable, a sanctuary Dex can never breach. Suki's heart twists uncomfortably at the thought. Because despite her loyalty, despite her love for Dex, she knows exactly what he's capable of. If Fisk orders it, Dex would track Ray to the ends of the earth. And that terrifies her more than anything.

She takes a steadying breath, stepping onto the elevator, descending to retrieve coffee, silently counting guards, exits, possibilities for escape or combat. Always calculating. Always aware. And yet she knows, with painful certainty, that escape isn't an option, not anymore. Her heart won't allow it. Her connection to Dex has trapped her here, willingly, knowingly chained.

Dex places the tray precisely on the coffee table before Fisk, every movement deliberate, controlled. Fisk sits composed, eyes scanning the morning paper with indifferent calm, not even acknowledging Dex's presence. The silence is deafening.

Dex clears his throat softly, hesitantly, voice quiet, almost reverent, "Can I get you anything else, sir?"

Silence lingers, heavy and punishing. Fisk doesn't even look up.

Dex swallows, anxiety prickling at the base of his neck, desperation leaking through carefully maintained composure, "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about Karen Page. She would be dead if Agent Nadeem hadn't interfered."

He shifts awkwardly, voice trembling with earnest intensity, "After everything you've done for me, I.. I just wanted to tell you that I'll keep my word. I will find her, and when I do, I am going--"

Fisk's voice cuts through Dex's words like a knife, quiet but harsh, "No. This matter will be handled, but not by you."

Dex's heart stops, a cold shock traveling sharply through his chest. His eyes widen, panic bleeding into his carefully controlled expression. He steps forward urgently, desperate to prove himself, "I can handle Agent Nadeem."

Fisk finally looks up, his gaze icy, detached, utterly dismissive, "Do nothing. It's clear that I have put too great a burden on your shoulders."

With that, Fisk lifts the newspaper once more, the gesture clearly communicating dismissal. Dex feels his breath hitch painfully, heart constricting as though Fisk had just physically struck him. He stands frozen for a moment, unspoken words churning violently within his chest.

The black noise, chaotic, harsh static, creeps into the corners of Dex's mind, growing louder, more overwhelming, a flood of panic, humiliation, and rage. Fisk's words echo painfully in his ears, a relentless refrain: too great a burden.

Too weak. Too disappointing.

The rejection burns like acid through Dex's veins, his vision blurring at the edges as he forces himself to turn and leave. He retreats numbly into the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last, his heart hammering violently, drowning in self-loathing. The black noise roars louder, engulfing him entirely, a tsunami of self-doubt and barely contained violence.

He stands motionless in the hallway, dazed, eyes glassy and unfocused, his mind spiraling inward dangerously. He leans heavily against the cold wall, fists clenched so tightly his nails bite sharply into his palms. The hallway, the hotel, the world itself, everything feels distant, surreal. Fisk's cold dismissal echoes on endless repeat, tearing at the very fabric of Dex's sanity.

He's lost, drowning, until a familiar presence draws near, a whisper of warmth breaking through his dark spiral.

Suki steps quietly from the elevator, two steaming cups of coffee held carefully, her eyes immediately finding him. Concern tightens her expression when she sees Dex's face, pale, distant, detached. Her footsteps quicken slightly, worry guiding her closer.

"Dex?" She whispers gently, carefully approaching, heart clenching painfully at his hollow expression.

At her voice, Dex slowly blinks, awareness returning gradually to his eyes, life rekindling the moment they meet hers. A flicker of light returns to his gaze, the raging chaos of black noise quieting slightly, muffled by her very presence.

"Suki," He murmurs quietly, voice rough with barely-suppressed emotion.

She hands him one of the coffees, her fingers brushing gently against his. Her touch grounds him immediately, the violent chaos within his mind temporarily stilled. Her eyes carefully scan his face, concern written openly across her features.

"What happened?" She whispers cautiously, already suspecting the answer.

Dex tries to smile, an attempt weak and strained, but genuine relief flickers briefly in his eyes, "Nothing. Just.. Fisk."

Suki nods slowly, knowingly, understanding far more than he voices aloud. She doesn't push, sensing the fragile state of his emotions. Instead, she gently leans into him, shoulder pressed reassuringly against his, silently promising she's here, she won't leave, even as the storm gathers again inside him.

Dex clings to the warmth of her touch, his free hand brushing softly against her wrist, seeking an anchor to keep him from losing himself again, "I'm sorry. I just... he, he doesn't trust me anymore."

She turns toward him fully, eyes fierce, unwavering, "You don't know that."

"He dismissed me," Dex murmurs shakily, gaze fixed on the floor, humiliation coloring his voice, "Like I'm nothing."

Suki gently grips his chin, forcing his gaze upward, voice quiet but intense, "You're not nothing. Not to me."

His breath catches slightly, eyes searching hers desperately for the reassurance he needs so badly. Suki's heart breaks softly, seeing the frightened, vulnerable boy hidden beneath his violent exterior, begging silently for acceptance, understanding, love.

She caresses his cheek softly, leaning closer.

Dex's eyes soften painfully,"Stay with me."

"Always," She whispers, heart aching, knowing the impossible truth in her promise.

They stand close together, fragile, desperate, clinging tightly to the last threads of humanity that tie them together.

Despite knowing it's dangerous, despite knowing Dex could unravel at any moment, Suki stays. Because love, raw and unrelenting, has trapped her here.

And Dex, lost and spiraling, knows she's the only anchor he has left in a world that's rapidly fracturing beneath his feet.

—

Dex stands in quiet observation as two meticulous movers gently hoist the painting onto the mantelpiece above the polished marble fireplace. The haunting canvas—A Rabbit in a Snowstorm—settles into place with an air of reverent finality. Dex's eyes linger, caught in the blurred lines and ghostly whites. Somehow, the painting feels deeply familiar: something distorted and hidden beneath layers of carefully controlled chaos.

Behind him, a soft rustle catches his attention. He turns smoothly to see Vanessa stepping gracefully into the living room, her gaze immediately drawn to the painting above the fireplace. Her presence is poised yet quietly powerful, an elegance edged by the subtle chill that Fisk's aura often carries. Dex straightens slightly, adjusting his tie with practiced efficiency.

"This is from Wilson," Dex offers quietly, respectfully, studying Vanessa's face for any reaction.

She nods softly, eyes never leaving the artwork, "I was wondering where it had gone."

Dex extends a hand, breaking the formal barrier with a well-practiced smile, charm spilling effortlessly through his voice, "Hey, we haven't formally met yet. I'm Agent Poindexter. Dex. If you need anything at all, just think of me as the new James Wesley."

Vanessa's eyes flicker toward him momentarily, the hint of a cool, assessing smile curving her lips as she accepts his handshake. Her grip is firm yet elegantly restrained, "Pleasure to meet you. Vanessa Marianna."

Vanessa takes a seat on the plush grey couch, her posture poised and serene, attention drawn inevitably back to the mesmerizing canvas before her. Dex remains standing, carefully attentive, observing her quiet contemplation.

"I've always told Wilson he has great taste in art," Dex remarks, attempting to further bridge the tenuous gap between them, watching her intently for cues.

Vanessa's lips twitch faintly, a knowing, almost bitter edge flickering behind her soft eyes, "He does love to put beautiful things on display. Especially with that new one he's acquired. Japanese, I believe."

A sudden jolt surges through Dex's chest at the unmistakable implication. Vanessa's eyes lift to meet his directly, her gaze sharp, deliberate, cutting deeper than any blade. His pulse quickens, panic surging quietly beneath his skin. She can't mean Suki, he thinks desperately. Yet her serene smile tells him otherwise.

Vanessa watches him carefully, relishing the unspoken power her words command. After a tense, prolonged silence, she gently adds, "Where did you find it?"

Another pause, deliberate and pointed. Dex's throat tightens, breath shallow and measured. He forces calm into his voice, consciously suppressing the alarm flickering beneath his carefully composed exterior, "The painting?"

"Yes," Vanessa murmurs gently, eyes locked on his, her soft smile unwavering.

"Some lady had it," Dex replies, masking anxiety beneath a casual shrug, "Wilson couldn't get her to sell it."

Vanessa's delicate fingers lace together in her lap, eyes drifting thoughtfully back toward the painting, nostalgia coloring her gaze, "Well, that must have been very disappointing for him. It's the painting in his collection that means the most to us."

Dex shifts slightly, feeling scrutinized beneath her gentle yet calculating gaze.

"I figured that," He murmurs, attempting sincerity, "so I thought I'd ask her just one last time."

Her eyes return slowly to his, a subtle gratitude woven into her voice, "Thank you, Agent Poindexter. Perhaps you can arrange to have it hung for us?"

Dex nods respectfully, voice firm, determined, eager to please, "It'd be my pleasure, ma'am."

Yet beneath his surface composure, anxiety churns violently. Vanessa's quiet, loaded observation, Suki, the newest addition to Fisk's twisted gallery, echoes painfully in his thoughts.

One floor below the penthouse, Suki stands silently in Fisk's private surveillance office, monitors glowing faintly with a bluish hue, their screens displaying various angles of courthouse security footage. Her heart thuds rapidly in her chest, anxiety crawling beneath her carefully maintained calm.

Tommy, Fisk's right-hand man, stands rigidly in front of her, voice clinical and direct, reporting methodically to Fisk, "Agent Nadeem has not yet been located. But my source tells me that the state's grand jury that was to be released this morning has been held late. What's more, courthouse security has been dramatically increased. These could be indications--"

"Nadeem is intending to testify," Fisk interjects sharply, voice dangerously calm, "That could be problematic."

Tommy nods gravely, "Yes, it would, sir."

Fisk's voice suddenly sharpens, the edge of rage thinly veiled beneath icy calm, "What's unclear to me is how you failed to kill him!"

Tommy's composure wavers slightly, uncertainty flickering briefly in his eyes, voice quiet, humble, "Daredevil interfered. The men responsible have been eliminated. However, the ultimate responsibility does rest with me. If you would like my resignation, I understand."

Fisk's expression softens fractionally, momentary gratitude shadowing his normally ruthless features, "You protected her... two years. You kept Vanessa safe when I couldn't. No, Felix. I want you to finish the job. If you need assistance, call our friends. Do whatever it takes. I will not be indicted."

Fisk's eyes shift suddenly toward Suki, his gaze piercing, commanding immediate attention.

"Special Agent Higashikokubaru," He states evenly, his voice a quiet, deadly order, "Locate Ray Nadeem."

Her heart drops violently, chest tightening painfully at Fisk's command. She nods stiffly, eyes locked on Fisk's without betraying the chaos raging beneath her surface. She can feel her pulse accelerating, her breathing quickening, each heartbeat a thunderous drum against her ribcage.

"Understood," She murmurs quietly, the single word heavy with suppressed dread.

She knows with sickening certainty that finding Ray Nadeem will only result in one outcome, his death. Her stomach knots violently, nausea rising sharply at the thought. Ray trusted her once, believed in her. Yet now, she's been ordered to hunt him down, to become the reason for his destruction.

Suki's mind spins rapidly, thoughts racing in desperate circles. Fisk's gaze remains locked firmly on hers, his silent challenge unmistakable: comply, or pay the price. Suki knows too well what the consequences of defiance could be, not only for herself but for Dex.

She swallows hard, pushing down the panic, the guilt, the quiet scream of her conscience. Her fingers tremble slightly, betraying her internal turmoil, but her face remains impassive, a carefully constructed mask of obedience.

In this moment, Suki recognizes the depth of her entrapment. Love, blind and fierce, has bound her tightly to Dex, and now she is forced to choose: betray the Bureau, betray Ray, or lose the man she loves, the very man who stands now in the penthouse above her, unknowingly tangled in the same web.

"Whatever it takes," Fisk repeats slowly, voice an ominous, chilling whisper, leaving no room for interpretation or escape.

Suki nods once more, a short, reluctant movement, feeling her very soul fracture with the weight of the decision forced upon her, "Yes, sir."

The silence that follows is deafening, each heartbeat echoing violently in her chest, a countdown toward an inevitable tragedy she knows she cannot escape.

Because now, more than ever, Suki understands that she is no longer free, she's another prized possession trapped within Fisk's twisted gallery.

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