"Yeah," he mutters heavily - he agrees but there's nothing to fucking do. Nowhere to run and no way to fight back. "It is."

The doorknob is turning. They hadn't locked it - no point, really. And then it swings open, whisper-quiet, and he's standing there, cloaked in shadow. Knife at his side again, turning in his fingers.

"You know I'm done waiting," he says quietly - and Mike is mildly surprised to hear no smile in his voice now. He sounds flat. Dead. Steps inside, swinging the door shut behind him. "The whore's right. This is getting really fucking old."