"The dogs."

His words made you pause. The conversation you two were having was innocent enough; you'd just expressed worry about not having seen one of your friend's friends for a little while. The guy vanished without a trace one day, and people were starting to get worried. And despite having only talked to him briefly at a party, you also felt a slither of worry creeping up in your heart the more you thought about the situation.

But the tone in which he'd said those two words—it was unnerving.

He noticed your sudden silence, taking it as a rightful sign of confusion on your part. A silent plea for elaboration. He turned his head to look at you, his face as blank as ever.

"I left him with the dogs."

The dogs...? Your two Dobermans? You'd noticed that their breath was especially bad a few days ago, but you didn't think too much of it—dogs being dogs and all. But now...?

The two of you stood in your shared kitchen, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze unforgiving. He held the knife he used to cut the vegetables tightly in his hand as he waited for your next move. And as the realization of what happened to that one guy dawned on you, his eyes never left your face.