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... te breath. His lungs felt like they had been emptied and left forgotten, his pulse roaring in his ears. He blinked rapidly, trying to process the blur of light and shadow around him. It took a few seconds before his mind caught up with reality—he was lying in his room, the familiar canopy of his bed above him.

His breaths slowed, though his heart continued to pound as if still fleeing from whatever nightmare had gripped him. His hands trembled as he reached out to steady himself on the e ...

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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.

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

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