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... ling for his chest.

With a hearty thwack, the shafts of both weapons collided, shoving the spearhead away from his flesh with inches to spare. He quickstepped to avoid a foot that was trying to hook around his ankle, then returned his stance to a neutral position.

Jumo let out a booming laugh—pleased that Edge had countered the move. “Nice one, brother! I thought I had you with that leg lock. You’re getting a lot better at controlling your weapon without losing your awareness of ...

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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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