Step one: Instill fear in Lilitha. Plant the idea that disobedience would bring my punishment. Establish master and pet.

Step two: Make Lilitha feel utter despair. Crush any lingering hope.

Step three: Make Lilitha dependent on me. Show her I’m the only one who’ll ever be kind to her.

This three-step plan, scribbled in Rogue’s leather-bound journal, was meant to shape Lilitha. Yet he’d already failed at step one.

Lilitha was afraid now—but not of Rogue. Her fear came from this strange place, an uncertain future, and past horrors. Fear of Rogue himself was faint. Compared to her former mistress, his methods were gentle. He healed her wounds, bathed her, fed her. His "punishments" were little more than spankings—painful, yes, but after enduring true cruelty, they felt like child’s play. Even threatening to take her Pendant had been an empty scare.

*He won’t really hurt me.*

That thought in Lilitha’s heart meant Rogue’s first step had utterly collapsed.

Realizing this before sleep, Rogue arrived at the warehouse half an hour early the next morning. Lilitha was already awake.

Huddled in the dim, cramped space, she clutched her thick dragon tail and the coarse cloth blanket. Her gaze drifted toward the single gap in the ceiling—the room’s only light source—her expression distant.

*She’s figured out her situation in just days. Clever little dragon.*

Rogue’s inexperience showed. "Pitch-black silence" and "dimness with occasional wind" were worlds apart. That tiny difference had robbed him of any real pressure over her.

*But today’s the last day.*

Rogue checked his pocket watch, then flipped open the journal detailing Lilitha’s habits. At exactly 8 a.m., he pushed the door open.

The sudden noise startled Lilitha. Her eyes snapped to the entrance. Seeing Rogue and Number One enter, she gripped the coarse cloth tighter over her body.

"Lilitha."

Rogue murmured her name, fingers hooking the edge of the cloth. He tugged slightly. Lilitha didn’t let go. Fear flickered in her eyes, mixed with stubborn defiance.

Three days of punishment hadn’t taught her: a master’s will was absolute.

Every time before, when Rogue tried to snatch the cloth, she’d only released it when he reached for her Pendant.

Not this time.

Lilitha held fast. Rogue yanked hard—ripping the cloth free. Then, before her wide eyes, he made as if to tear it apart.

Lilitha shot upright, grabbing Rogue’s wrist, shaking her head frantically. Pleas tumbled from her lips in draconic.

That scrap of cloth was her only comfort. Three days of exposure and dread—it had been her sole warmth at night.

Rogue didn’t flinch. *Riiip.*

He tore the cloth in half. Then quarters. Then shredded it to pieces.

Lilitha stared blankly. *Why? I did nothing wrong.*

Three days of food and care had buried her old instincts. *Slaves get beaten. Endure it. This shadowy man won’t truly harm me.*

Rogue knew her thoughts. False comfort was useless. His earlier kindness had been a mistake.

He set down a wooden bucket, filled it with water, then dangled a loaf of bread before her eyes. He placed it on a stool.

*How much you eat depends on your obedience.*

Lilitha understood. Unwilling but powerless, she let Rogue drag her to the bucket. He dumped her in.

Icy water hit her half-healed wounds. Lilitha screamed—cut short as Rogue clamped a hand over her mouth. His other hand struck her cheek.

The familiar punishment.

But this light slap ignited rebellion.

Lilitha thrashed, splashing water in Rogue’s face. She seized his arm and bit down hard. Her tiny fang didn’t break skin, but the pain was sharp.

Rogue’s eyes turned glacial. She’d resisted before—but never like this on day four.

*What pet harms its master?*

His hand shot out, clamping around Lilitha’s throat. He lifted her effortlessly. Pressure mounted—like he meant to choke the life from her.

Air dwindled. Lilitha’s defiant glare shrank into pure terror. She kicked and clawed at his arm.

The harder she fought, the tighter his grip. Her struggles weakened. Tiny hands scrabbled uselessly against his fingers.

Rogue’s face stayed cold. He watched her closely, controlling the pressure.

*I keep you alive. I can end you just as easily.*

This was interrogation’s core: make them taste death to shatter their will.

Breath failed. Lilitha’s thrashing slowed. Strength bled away. Trapped in this magic-silenced room, even a full-grown dragon was just meat on his chopping block.

Rogue saw it—the storm of emotions in her eyes collapsing back into that first-night fear.

*Remembering past tortures? Or just fearing death?*

He released her.

Lilitha crashed into the water-filled bucket, chin cracking against wood. She coughed violently, gasping for air.

Before she could recover, Rogue loomed close. His hand shot out—grabbing her Pendant. Shadows pooled under his brow, eyes sharp as a dragon-devouring ghost.

Lilitha froze. Mind blank. She didn’t even feel the Pendant being seized at first.

When she did, she clung to his arm, tears streaming. Her draconic pleas were rawer than ever.

This time, Rogue didn’t yield.

A sharp tug. The chain snapped.

The silvery rhombus crystal caught the light as Rogue dangled the Pendant before her eyes.

Lilitha lunged. The bucket overturned, drenching Rogue.

As she looked up, Rogue finally smirked. He snorted in displeasure—and tossed the Pendant to the floor like trash.

*Clang.*

The door slammed shut. Rogue left with the bread. He didn’t clean the spilled water or cloth scraps.

Above, the small window sealed shut. The room’s sole light vanished.

*Huff.*

Outside, Rogue let out a breath. He wasn’t kind—but playing this measured villain wasn’t easy either.

He glanced back at the fading warehouse, already anticipating Lilitha’s state by tonight.