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... f an elder councilman stepped in here, he would definitely find what had happened. His heart lay in her hand which she dropped on the ground before taking a couple of steps back and away from the man before realization came to hit her.


She had killed a man with her bare hands.


As the thought repeated in her mind over and over again. She sunk down on the floor in horror as to what she had done. She had really killed him. But if she hadn't killed him he would have killed he ...

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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.”

“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.

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