Vlad pushes himself up to standing, and passes Javert, dropping his gloves on the table as he goes. He takes up the seat opposite, leaning back and interlacing his fingers.

'Direct your ire at me, sir. Lest I lose faith entirely in your, better nature.'

The words are exquisitely enunciated in a sharp sneer. As if Javert has never brought a man to his knees in humiliation. As if he didn't enjoy it.