The longer this goes on, the more he craves the first blow. It’s weird thinking about killing with his bare hands, but that’s more intimate, right? Flesh on flesh. Death closes in. He feels like a tiger, skin and bones. Desperate for a taste. Only the need to look cool keeps him from vibrating out of his skin.

But how long has it been since he had a conversation with someone ready to face death with him? Taken time to look at someone’s face and watch them ease into the violence coming to them both? Too long. He’s been away too long.

“Alright,” he repeats. “You got me curious. What’s worth more than a fight to the death?”

Wanting revenge was so different.