It didn't matter what Tony said. It didn't matter that he was developing, just clearly not the exact thing that Wesker thought they should be working on, so the process was being rejected. They weren't going to play the game that Wesker proposed, either; instead, Tony accepted, "Okay," smooth and sharp, turning on his heel to stalk up to Wesker's seat and lean over him, hand braced on the arm of the chair with the other holding the bottle between them where Tony's fingers could peel away to gesture restlessly. "You came in here today at 10:48, according to Jon's clock, and sat at that table for exactly two hours and thirteen minutes." As Tony continued, his focus over the rim of his glasses that he had locked onto Wesker flickered, not quite looking away but searching as he scrolled rapidly through the footage from the grainy camera by the doorway. He didn't know what Wesker was doing, but he could report his movements down to the second, if Wesker really wanted, volunteering that detail part way through his report as he recounted Wesker glancing at his phone, "Twelve point two seconds, longer than normal, someone cute?," then moved on rapidly, all the way up until Wesker was neatly hanging up his lab coat.