"What part of his body do you think would get eaten first?" Kasteil asked.
His voice was calm, almost idle, as if he were asking about the weather rather than the fate of a man running for his life. He didn't look away from the screen as he spoke, his posture relaxed, one arm resting against the console.
"His legs," Peter said.
Peter stood with his arms crossed, his expression neutral but focused. He was the head of Kasteil's bodyguards, a man who had seen violence before and learned to separate emotion from duty. His eyes stayed on the monitor, tracking the movement on the screen.
"I bet Q5000 on his hands," Kasteil said.
The guards around him stiffened slightly.
Several of them exchanged quick glances, surprise flickering across their faces before they quickly masked it. They had expected cruelty. They had expected punishment. But betting on which part of a man's body would be taken first was something else entirely.
