Marcus moved suddenly. No warning, no words. One second he was standing near the sink, blood drying across his knuckles, and the next he was storming toward the door.
"Marcus—wait, where are you going?" Vincent's voice cut through the heavy silence.
No reply.
The only answer he got was the sharp crack of the door slamming shut so violently the hinges trembled. The sound echoed through the motel room like a gunshot, making Vincent flinch.
He stared at the door for a long second, chest still rising and falling from everything that had happened moments ago.
"Okay…" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Sure. Slam the door. Totally normal. Nothing weird about that at all."
He forced a laugh, but it came out thin, broken.
"Right. Great. That's… healthy communication, sure."
The words came out in his usual tone — half amused, half careless — but they fell flat in the thick silence that followed.
