The clone shifts in his chair, his expression hard and suspicious and wary, unblinking as he stares into Miles' face. Is he screwing with me right now? This is the sort of game he's used to - being given an opportunity to fuck up. Having the door thrown wide open so he can screw up massively and suffer the consequences. Always easier, after all, than waiting for him to screw up organically...But what'll be the price if he does fuck up? Miles' smile looks natural enough, if exhausted; there's none of the tension in his face that signals that there's some hidden fury there. But anger isn't the only possible outcome of you showing your weaknesses - and anger isn't really Miles' way, either. Head games, that's his way.

So he starts small. Just a single word. He puts it out there like sticking your hand under the spray of the shower, to test...Well, to test whether the water is secretly acid.

"Murder."