"Has anyone ever told you that your cheeks get this really light red color when you get angry?" Emile asked, his gaze shifting to different parts of your face, studying you with all the awe of a scientist studying an unknown specimen under a telescope.

You'd been trying to get information out of him for hours now, and it was starting to get irritating.

Every time that you thought you were actually making progress he flashed you that stupid smile and began going off topic, chatting with you as if you were two friends having a Sunday brunch. Chatting as if he wasn't responsible for the murder of fifteen people.

You tried sending your colleagues to question him instead, thinking that maybe they could get some info, but it just resulted in him either refusing to talk at all or throwing a fit.