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... . He couldn’t breathe properly. The trembling wouldn’t stop. The world felt like it was spinning.

From the moment Ha Dohoon had grabbed his throat, his mind had half-shut down. Memories that had been buried deep—memories of trauma—began playing in his head like short, silent films.

A few years after he’d run away from home, he’d gotten a job at a factory introduced to him by a man from a construction site.

It was the kind of place where you moved like a machine, without p ...

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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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