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... g, casting long shadows over the rising tide. Waterbirds darted across the beach, snatching fish from the waves and landing on the rocks to peck at their catch.

Splash!

Daemon walked aimlessly along the shore, each step heavy and uncertain. He didn’t know why he was walking—only that he needed to keep moving, as if chasing someone’s fading footsteps.

Plop.

Suddenly, his foot slipped, and he stumbled, collapsing into the soft gravel. His mind in a fog, Daemon unfas ...

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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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