After minutes had passed, Cassian slowly stood from his expensive, comfortable chair.
First, he shrugged off his custom suit jacket.
Mark lifted his head, watching warily as his boss moved.
After draping the blazer perfectly over the back of the leather chair, Cassian unbuttoned his cuffs. He elegantly rolled the expensive cotton sleeves up to just below his elbows.
He leaned forward, reaching down to unclip the small combat knife strapped to his ankle. He brought the sharp blade to his own bare forearm and pressed down and dragged the metal across his skin, splitting it open. The scary part is that he didn't even wince.
But before a single drop of crimson blood could spill over the edge of the wound, the torn muscle and skin instantly knitted back together, leaving behind no mark or scar on the skin.
Cassian casually tossed the knife onto the desk and sat back down, folding his hands as he watched Mark absorb the impossible display.
