"It's not that I wanted to kill you--" Both of Gabe's hands are on the glass, now, and he's breathing heavily. Is it hot in here? It's hot in here. He swears it's hot in here, swears he's going to start sweating. It's not because he's in the middle of freaking out. He can't be. He has to remain calm. His gaze focuses straight at Harrison, watching how smug he looked with his hands behind his back. Like a collector of rare birds.

This cage sucked.

"--it's more, I wanted to get you to kill yourself. I don't get anything out of it if I do it. Which is exactly why you should let me out of here, and let's face it--if I somehow decided to, which, why? You could zoom away faster than a 3-song punk album."

He'll get to the actual answer in a moment.