There's a split second, a split second, where his pupils started to dilate in shock. A twitch at his lips, the start of a tug at his brows. In truth, he'd expected this to play out differently and somehow work around this outcome: a silly display of confetti like the gun proved, some sort of invincibility or... Something. He'd convinced himself that it wouldn't have this outcome.

He clamped down on the shock and it was like flipping a switch: the feeling of it went away and he shoved all of that ugly, messy emotion in a box that he locked tight, then shoved it far back in the back of his head where he didn't have to look at it. In an almost overcompensation, his brows furrowed and he set his jaw as he watched.

V was waiting for something to happen with a cold, dispassionate stare. There were many calculations going on in his head, silently weighing the likelihood that he had actually killed her, and how much of a pain in the ass that might be for him. (This may be a virtualization, but killing people in it still probably wasn't considered polite.)