[Hector's gone for the throat and he's gashed him open, far too easily.

Isaac's eyes goes wide and blank and stricken, blood slamming his eardrums --

-- and in his hiving thoughts he sees himself reaching out to snap Hector's neck in a single, decisive jerk of his hands. No more torment; no more doubts. And with his death, a return to what has always been: misery, but at least, he knows what to expect and where he stands, a cold comfort found in that predictability.

There's a sense of purpose in the set of his jaw, when he rips his knife from its sheath at his boot and holds the point inches from Hector's throat. Only his hand won't follow through. It shakes and shakes for a minute, Isaac's lips hard and white as he fights it and fights against it, a vein throbbing hard in his temple.]

Look me in the eye -- [he seethes, spit frothing through his teeth] -- and tell me this is no ruse! Tell me this show of camaraderie is not your revenge!

[His face tightens as desperation gains momentum with nowhere to go, and for a moment, he's dangerously close to tears.]

You have ruined me once and you will not live to do it again - I swear it. Should you lie to me now, I will run you through your heart where you sit.