[His eyes burn cold. He stays rooted to the spot, the muscles in his chest tight around his ribs like loops of rope.

Another man could have stepped back and taken that out, fuming in silence, because confrontations and the sheer, full-bodied energy it takes to sustain the anger that he has for this long are exhausting. But he's not here to make life more convenient for Hector, to make things more pleasant for Hector when, most days, he's barely functional at best, relieved when he's so bone-tired from overwork that he doesn't dream at all.]

Fuck your soul. Fuck redemption. [Said with a deathly calm, every word laced with venom.] They matter not a damned thing. We will all burn -- the only difference from one wretch to the next is that some will sooner than others. If you are not in any hurry, then you would best hear me now, for I shall say this but once more: my life is not yours to meddle with as it suits you... and I am not yours to mold into more pleasing a shape. I am not yours.

[His throat moves, jaw sharpening. He doesn't blink.]

Lay your hands on me again, and I will kill you.