Roberto stared up at the eyes.
Two lights. Dull. Colorless. Set deep into a face that wasn't a face.
They hovered inches from his own, ringed in darkness so complete the rest of the world felt like it had been deleted.
He could close his eyes.
But he didn't.
Something told him that if he blinked—even once—it would be worse.
The figure didn't move. Not a twitch. Just stood there, bent slightly at the waist, like it had all the time in the world. Like it was savoring something.
And in that moment, Don felt it.
Something wrong stirring behind the eyes. Not anger. Not strategy. Something simpler. Cruder.
He wanted to hurt him.
Not because it was necessary. Not because the mission demanded it.
He just… wanted to.
A slow hunger curled at the base of his spine. Hot and strange, not quite bloodlust but close. It felt foreign—but familiar.
Don didn't like that.
He didn't hate it either.
'Is it the suit?' he thought briefly. 'Or just me... finally cracking?'
