[Oh, there is worry, all right. Or, well, not worry. There's a long, drawn-out pause where Clint puts together everything Nida's just said with what he's dropped hints about throughout their conversation, and there's a solid count between fifteen and twenty of nothing but silence before Clint breathes out again, heavily, speaking at the same time. The kind of noise a person makes when they've metaphorically been punched in the gut.]
From one hour to the next. Did they handcuff you to your bed at night?
[It's a worryingly specific question and an even weirder phrase. Clint's not even aware at the moment that his words didn't come out in Russian.]
no subject
From one hour to the next. Did they handcuff you to your bed at night?
[It's a worryingly specific question and an even weirder phrase. Clint's not even aware at the moment that his words didn't come out in Russian.]