[They've been here before, Hector wanting to kill a conversation and Isaac too stubborn to let it die. Where the rare surge of emotion might have stirred pity in a gentler heart, all Isaac sees in the moment is an opening, smelling blood and hungry for his fill. All he sees is a man defanged and declawed, a fate that, to him, seems worse than death. Far worse.]

We. [He echoes, a mocking note sharp in his voice. It looms between them with all the weight of a death sentence.] ...Ever since I fucked you, you've clung to me like a burr. No fool am I, Hector - do not think I know not from whence comes this... [his nose wrinkles] ...sentiment.

[He pushes off the ground to sit upright, his chest heaving deeply. There's air all around him but it's not enough, his lungs feeling tight.]

The only reason you turn to me now is naught but pure desperation. [It's a word he spits into Hector's face like a hot piece of food.] You have nothing and no one, so you scrabble for what precious pity scraps this life has to offer -- even I, the lesser, the spare, a non-entity in the three years you wallowed in paradise.

[Eyes piercing, shiny-wet, his lips curve into a sliver of a smile that could cut steel.]

Were you in your right mind, you'd never forgive yourself for lying with me, for spitting on your woman's memory... and that burning shame would haunt you for the rest of your days.