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... forced them to stay steady. He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his breathing ragged but controlled.

The man watched him with mild amusement. "Ah, even though you are a little rude brat. you do learn quickly."

"Good."

Arthur’s eyes, dark and cold, locked onto his attacker’s. His voice, however, remained eerily calm. "What do you want?"

The man smiled.

A slow, deliberate smile that sent a chill down Arthur’s spine.

"You."

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“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.”

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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.

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