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... a gathering storm. What if he'd unknowingly inherited Shin's questionable naming sense? They weren't bound by blood, but inheritance didn't always need blood. Influence alone could carve its mark.

Then, as if sunlight had parted the gloom, Lirae's face bloomed with a radiant smile.

"Nureya. Born from ashes. I love it."

He hadn't meant to slight Burning Storm, but—stars—his heart nearly skipped. That smile... that was the first real one she'd given in the last few minutes. ...

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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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