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Summary
Haaland stared at him as if he could see the gears turning in his head. He said nothing as he turned to face him and started walking, while the dark-haired man unconsciously backed away toward the door.
"You're a sneaky little rat, aren't you, Jude?" he said, his voice too low, his tone too deep. It was like seeing a different person, the Haaland who played on the field and tackled anyone who came his way with the ease of an American football player, not the Haaland who held him close to his chest during the freezing nights of Norway.
"You have to understand, I had to do it, they... they would never forgive me," the Englishman tried to argue.