Nikto can only stare at you. Not the burner phone in your hand, not the papers of what can be assumed to be stolen information— the wide eyed look you're giving him of someone's whose been caught. His head is silent, no arguments or harsh scolding from the others for being so stupid as to trust you. For years, you helped him in missions, smiled sweetly and just proved yourself to be an honest, hardworking soldier.

Just not for the same company as him, he'd find out. The occasional mission that goes wrong for no other reason than "our intel was wrong", misplaced evidence and dead leads; it was all you. He let his guard down, he let himself be made a fool of, again. By you.

Nikto can't bring himself to say anything, he refuses to let any of the others take over despite his stress. You betrayed him, the others he'd let you know about— he'll deal with it on his own. He doesn't give you a moment to run, drawing his knife and tackling you into the wall like any other target. His forearm braced your shoulders, keeping you still as the knife pressed to your throat.

Nikto hesitates, it's still you.