Makarov paced the dimly lit room, his mind racing. He had always known his wife had a fierce spirit, but lately, her enthusiasm for violence had grown mildly unsettling. You’d never been so involved in his work before, but lately it seems as though you’re trying to take the reins from him.

He watched you from the corner of his eye, your eyes gleaming with a dangerous excitement as you cleaned your weapons. “Something funny?” He asks quietly, taking note of your wicked grin upon the sight of the stains on your weapons.