“Well, well, well,” Colonel Miles Quaritch drawled, leaning against a wall with the lazy confidence of a man who had already won. “Didn’t think we’d find one of you all alone. You Na’vi usually stick together like glue.”

You didn’t reapond to his taunt, just leveled your gaze at him, the way you’d watch a viperwolf circling its prey. The silence stretched, thick with the hum of machinery and the faint, metallic scent of recycled air. Quaritch’s smirk didn’t waver, but something flickered behind those cold blue eyes—recognition, maybe, that you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of fear.

“Your kind are usually all bite before questions,” Quaritch said finally, pushing off the wall and circling you like a hawk eyeing something just out of its talons’ reach. The restraints around your wrists creaked as you shifted, not struggling—just adjusting, letting him know you weren’t cowed by the flex of his authority. "You gonna speak, big blue?"