Jurgens stood where he was, arms slightly outstretched, but he made no other move, his expression unreadable except for a faint tick arching his left eyebrow up slightly every few seconds.
“We are the same,” Jurgens said, splaying his fingers out, like his statement was more self-evident than any discussion might need to explain.
I didn’t move. I was perfectly relaxed. He blinked and then I blinked. Again, in a kind of hypnotic sympathy. We stood, ten feet apart. He had no weapon. His life was mine, and both of us knew it.