Kant tried to focus on something else—the buzzing of the lamp, the faint sound of the heater. Anything but the needle piercing through his skin, followed by the burn of the thread running through, and the stitches being pulled at the edges of the wound.
Midway through, Hunter paused and glanced at Kant, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. "Why didn't you kill him? You had the perfect chance."
"Who knows," Kant breathed, wincing as the last stitch went in.
As Hunter tied it up, Kant was left floating between relief and irritation. He exhaled slowly, leaning his head against the backrest, grateful it was finally over.
"I'm not sure of many things lately," Kant mentioned, not fully grasping why he was even telling that to Hunter.
"Like what?"
"Killing." Kant's fingers curled around an invisible blade. "I know it's one move and he's dead." He exhaled, relaxing his fingers. "But for some reason..."
