[ The lack of blue within blue throws him off to some degree — so used to the inky depths of spice use that others would find so haunting — but he shakes himself out of it, pushing his role as an FBI agent to the forefront of his mind. Not Marina. Not the prison at the bottom of the ocean. No chess matches or hyenawasps or criminology classes. Only this.
He draws a steadying breath through his nose, his own dark brown eyes firmly fixed on the other man. ]
There are agents all over this building. There's no way out. I suggest you give yourself up.