"Or what?" The shag-haired man challenged wickedly, flashing his teeth.
Always one step ahead.
His fingers hovered at the side of the gun, but he wasn't ready to curl them around the trigger just yet. It was still far too early to commit.
Raymond took another quick glance at the clock. It had been over two hours now - he had watched it go by minute by minute. Only God knew what sort of life-threatening predicament his master could have been thrown into over the course of these two hours.
The butler twiddled with Keats' knotted fur continually, staring out at the concrete jungle of the Nest. With each and every second that his master loitered in there, the chance of him being caught - or worse - increased.
He had gotten himself into a swither with no options. There was no way that he could go in there to help without causing problems. The ticking clock that continued to mock his helplessness wasn't making it easier.
Keats looked up at the tired man with inquisitive eyes, giving a soft meow that broke the silence. Raymond let his restless hand roll off his lap. "He could be dead already." the butler said bluntly.
He had been working for the Sycamore family for as long as he could remember - it was almost as if he had spent his entire life dedicated to serving them. Despite this, he hadn't ever enjoyed his job - not until Desmond came along.
Descole took in a deep breath and tensed up, bringing the blade closer to the other man's neck, trying his luck with an unsteady arm. "You wouldn't." He said brusquely, strong with defiance. He knew that Bronev never did his own dirty work - this was yet another empty threat. "You wouldn't dare get blood on your own hands."
The gun crept closer as Bronev's hands twitched; the unexpected tingle of the icy cold metal grazing his skin. "Say that again." The bearded man urged. "I dare you."
Layton pulled a protective arm around Luke, who had curled up unable to watch the situation unfold. He glanced over at Aurora. The girl was frozen in one spot.
After noticing Layton's glance, Aurora shuffled with tiny hesitant steps next to him, focusing on the blue carpet beneath her feet, holding her pale hands close to her chest.
Professor Sycamore - Descole - seemed to believe that he had rescued her, freeing her from the prison that these Targent monsters had locked her up in. But, in the process, he had become a monster himself.
"You would not." Descole repeated through gritted teeth, sweat from his forehead beginning to drip into his hair. He was beginning to doubt his own words - Bronev had got his men to shoot at him before.
But he had to repeat it. He was not going to allow Bronev to feel the satisfaction of him seeing him give in.
Emmy winced as she saw Bronev's face contort slowly into a wide, evil grin that she instantly recognised the meaning of. In that moment, the room's temperature appeared to plummet- if it got any colder Emmy was certain that she'd see her own breath.
The sudden chill made her shiver, but no one else seemed to feel it.
Raymond hummed quietly - reminiscing was taking his mind off the waiting. He remembered the first time that he'd met the young Desmond - the boy must have only been around twelve and had just been taken in by the family as one of their own. He refused to speak to anyone.
Keats pushed his head into the old man's hand with a purr so Raymond ran his hand along the back of the cat's ears.
Quiet and observant, but distant and stubborn, Desmond had soon taken to the butler, choosing Raymond over his adoptive parents. The pair had been close companions ever since.
Raymond shook his head. "And I'm still sitting here none the wiser." He added with a sigh, feeling weighed down inside. It was now a matter of hoping for the best and waiting for his master to return.
"Trying to be brave, are we?" Bronev sneered. "You'll wish you never did!" His fingers were rested on the trigger now, one sudden move and it would be all over.
Descole opened his mouth to fight back against Bronev with his words, but only a strangled gasp came out.
"Please! No!" A cry came from across the room. Emmy raised her head to look at her uncle, her face was drained of colour. "Please stop!" She begged. He was going too far. She would never forgive herself if she stood and watched him kill another person - even if that person was one who had caused them so much trouble.
Descole looked to Emmy. She was one of them and yet up until now she hadn't interfered - were her lies to Layton more important? His defeated eyes shifted to the professor, who was still shielding Luke. His brother had no idea what any of this really meant.
His eyes moved back onto the gun, to see that Bronev's large, oil-stained fingers were on the trigger. In his mind, Descole begged for it to just be over. Targent had beaten him.
The strong grip on his sword that he had held with determination began to falter. Perhaps he would finally get to be with his family again - the family that Bronev had torn apart and tossed aside.
"Bronev, don't do this!" Layton shouted to the man.
Sweating profusely, Bronev didn't bother to look up to acknowledge the dissuasion from his youngest son. Instead, he made low grumble.
"Bronev you can't-"
A loud, forceful bang echoed throughout the room, cutting Layton off.
