Kimblee watched you pace back and fourth. He was sitting at a desk in the room you both were sent to, his head resting on his folded hands, a smirk on his face. You had been sent not only to retrive him from prison, but to accompany him on his missions. You were a front, so people would be less likely to question why he wasn't executed. Were you also meant to keep him in line, incase he tried to escape or rebel? He wasn't sure. But he found your every reaction amusing. Your anger, your fear.