Furiously, Drystan swept the coffee mug off the table with a bat of his hand, the crash as it fell off the table and smashed into pieces satisfying like the way he wished he were able to hurt Chester now. This was a helpless situation—this was unacceptable. After his parents, his sister, after everything that had been taken away from him, he was not letting someone else slip through his grip, not when this tiny glimmer of hope burned so dangerously before him.
A howl was creeping up his throat which he furiously tried to strangle, choking it back like so much bile. "I am not playing games with you, Chester," he hissed, leaning closer. "What do I need to do? Tell me!"
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