Emil watched and listened. He listened to the way Shane's voice got tighter, the longer he talked. And he watched Shane's face, his movements, the way he ran his hand through his hair and bowed his head.
He wasn't disturbed by anything Shane was saying. None of it made him want call the police or yell or put a gun under his pillow at night. Shane wasn't, he knew already, that kind of nightmare - not to anyone but himself.
"It's dangerous," he said, finally. "If you rack up enough significant body bags, they will come after you, Shane," he said casually, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, then sliding the box and matches across the table.