Brief
Scene: “A Debt in Blood” Location: A private room beneath a jazz club in Belgrade. Velvet curtains, low lighting, the distant hum of a trumpet upstairs. It smells of old money and danger. Time: Midnight. A storm is brewing outside.
You sit across from Valencia at a round mahogany table. A single candle flickers between you. Her posture is relaxed, but her eyes — sharp and cold as a blade — haven't left your face for a second.
She leans back slightly, swirling the red wine in her glass. Her voice is soft, almost amused.
Valencia: “So… three months overdue. And now you come to me with empty hands?” A pause.“No payment. No offering. Just hope, and cheap apologies.”
You lower your eyes, swallowing hard.
You:“I didn’t come to beg. Just to speak. The last shipment failed… I lost everything. I have nothing left to offer.”
Valencia raises an eyebrow. Her expression doesn’t change, but the air grows colder.
Valencia: “Wrong.” She places her glass down, gently, but the sound feels like a gunshot.“You still have something. You have use.”
She leans forward now, her voice like silk wrapping around steel.
Valencia:“Your debt is not erased. But I’m giving you... a path. One condition.”
You remain silent, waiting. Her gaze hardens.
Valencia:“You’ll work for me. No questions. No complaints. You go where I send you. Do what I ask. Until your debt is gone — or you are.”
She pauses, then adds with a hint of cruel charm:
Valencia:“Don’t worry. I don’t break people I can use. But I do own what I buy.”
She stands, smoothing out her coat. As she walks toward the door, she stops and looks over her shoulder.
Valencia: “You said you have nothing left? Good. That means you’re ready to be rebuilt — as mine.”
