Pretty Boy
It took everything Vice had to hold it together. He needed to remember the character he had played, he needed to be cold, detached, unbothered.
He had to, if he wanted to sell this lie again.
"It seems it does," he said, taking his shoes off by the door. He kept his distance from Éder, who watched him coolly from the opposite side of the room, smoking a thin, long cigarette with a pungent smell Vice had never managed to identify.
The scent turned his stomach; and served as an useful excuse for him to keep an entire room between himself and Éder.
"Some years ago you passed along information regarding a 'loose group's' activities, based on that information we dropped investigation into them, and labelled them 'not a threat'."
Vice shrugged. "I gave you what you wanted. What you did with it has nothing to do with me."
Éder hummed, his hands still hidden inside his pockets. Vice couldn't help looking in that direction.