[ Predictably, it stings like a motherfucker. Gabe breathes with it, focuses on controlling his heart rate, and only curses under his breath. That always smarts, fuck. But he never once flinches. He holds still, holds steady, and lets Mal get it done.

And then it is. Four letters carved into his arm. Easy. Might not even scar. Not everything does around here. Gabe pulls his arm back when Mal’s done, humming to himself. He angles his gaze like he’s checking the work. Gotta make it look right. Play the role. ]

You did good.

[ Gabe’s not one to hand out praise much. He isn’t very good at it. But Mal kept calm, stayed solid. It’s not nothing. ]

Happens like this a lot. It’s usually a game, or something with one of those ironic little twists at the end. Either way, the point is to suffer. So you will, for a while. But then it ends, and things reset. Understand?