Dmitri calmly washed his hands. Even though they had been gloved while he 'worked', he still scrubbed with meticulous care, washing off the bit of blood that had somehow made its way to his hands.
The water ran pink for a moment before swirling clear.
He turned off the tap, dried his hands with a cloth towel, and glanced at the bound man slumped in the chair behind him—barely conscious, but alive. For now.
Dmitri adjusted the folded sleeves of his shirt and stepped closer, his tone was polite, almost gentle.
"Now then, James," Dmitri crouched to eye level with the man, whose face was a wreck of blood, snot, sweat, and tears. "I'm willing to hear you out."
The smile on Dmitri's face was calm, almost pleasant, a chilling contrast to James's battered and barely conscious expression. His eyes felt heavy and they were threatening to shut permanently.
But Dmitri had no intention of letting that happen.
