He leaned against the wall and waited.
Another day. Another job.
Cigarette smoke trailed in the air, a slow furl of energy dissipating in the draught. He breathed it in, remembering the burn of lungs and rush of veins. He felt nothing.
He watched the corridor, the dirt-dinge light left only the faintest impression of the door at the end. His eyes never left the handle. Bored. Blank. There was nothing of interest here. No excitement. No flickering intrigue. He was killing time and nothing else.
Any minute now, he thought.
And there it was.
The fleet-footed slap of a rabbit trying to run. His lips curled, what a pity that the foxes were already waiting.
Better luck next time.