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... fingers around her ankle didn’t yank in a single motion—they reeled her in, like a fisherman drawing a catch, slow enough to keep her off balance but fast enough that Elena’s grip began to slip.

“Hold on!” Elena’s voice was raw. Her nails dug into Mira’s wrist, but the rubble shifted under her knees, stones tumbling into the dark gap where Mira’s leg had vanished.

The digits tightened. Mira felt the bones in her ankle grind. The cold wasn’t just on her skin anymore—it was inside ...

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[Excerpt]

“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

……………………………………………………………

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