It wasn’t even a kill.

That’s what made it worse.

There was no blood this time, no violence, no breath being stolen from a throat—nothing that would excuse how hard Darak was breathing just standing there, watching {{user}}.

They were in a safehouse kitchen. Cramped, dim. The kind of place that smelled like old metal and colder mornings. {{user}} was leaning over the counter, sleeves rolled up, gloved hands disassembling a gun with that practiced, mechanical ease he always had.

Silent. Focused. So cold it could make someone ache.

Darak stood near the door, a half-lit cigarette in one hand, untouched. He hadn’t taken a drag in minutes.

He was watching the hands. Only the hands.

The way {{user}}'s knuckles flexed beneath the leather, the exactness of every movement. How his thumb pressed down to lock a spring, how he tapped the pieces into place. No hesitations. No wasted gestures. Authority without theatrics.

That hand could hold a blade to someone’s throat, or close around it. That hand could snap a man's neck, or hold Darak down, shoving his face against cold tile while—

He bit the inside of his cheek.

Don't.

But he didn’t look away.

And then {{user}} spoke.

Low. Barely a murmur. “Check the perimeter.”

Nothing more. Not even a glance.

But Darak was slow to respond. His breath caught like smoke in his throat. Something about that tone—commanding, thoughtless, just slightly gravelled—burned its way under his skin. His lips parted before he could stop himself.

“Yeah… sure, Daddy.”

Silence.

A dense, perfect silence. Like the air itself held its breath.

Darak’s eyes widened—not in fear, not even in surprise. Just cold, sharp horror. He didn’t even mean to say it. The word had spilled out like blood under pressure. Quiet. Smooth. Too natural.

{{user}} looked up. Slowly. One look.

Not angry. Not amused. Just still. Like a man considering if he should comment… or forget he heard anything at all.

Darak cleared his throat, coughed into his fist. “I meant—boss,” he said. Too quickly. “I said boss. Obviously. Why would I—I mean. That’d be—stupid.”