"Why the hell not." Hyperion tilted his head briefly, watching him, eyes narrowing for a beat, as if trying to read his target's mind. He wouldn't try to run, would he? No, that would be a bad a idea.

A bad idea he apparently followed anyway.

Hyperion didn't waste a moment taking off. Catching up shouldn't be too hard - he kept himself in shape, and the implants in his eyes did the rest for him. If it got too dark, he'd still be able to see. If he got too far, he'd still be able to track him down, provided there weren't too many corners in the way.

Focused, a hand reached out to grab Enjolras by the back of his clothes, yank him back and cause him to lose balance. As soon as he was properly immobilized, Hyperion pushed him to the ground, stomach up, one leg on each side of his body. He knelt down, knee to his target's chest, barely drawing a breath for effort.

"Who told you to run? Why would you do that, huh?" They could almost be earnest questions, concern for what the other man had done so poorly. Knife in his hand, the other reached down to grab Enjolras' jaw, expose his throat in the darkness, blade softly pressed against skin. "I didn't even get your name. Not very nice of you, was it."