Dance of the damned

[Present Time]

Marcus squinted as he kept his observant eyes on Quentin. The latter seemed to be deep in thought, and he had been silent since. 

'What is he thinking this time?' he wondered, gulping nervously as he could only assume all sorts of evil things. 'Is he thinking of Michael? Or… Fil?'

"Mr. Arkwright."

Suddenly, Marcus flinched at the calm sound of Quentin's voice. 

"Ye — yes?" he asked, stuttering. "What is it, Quentin?"

Quentin fluttered his lashes at him and smirked. "Are you still scared of me?"

"No." Marcus's came out just so naturally from his mouth he almost bit his tongue. 

"I don't think it's possible to kill that friend of yours," Quentin remarked.

Marcus almost heaved a sigh of relief. "It's — it's okay."

"Was it?"