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Only Qin Ci walked the slowest. He didn’t turn on his phone and instead stood alone in the darkness, seeming a little hesitant.

Mu Yiran coughed lightly. He stepped forward and patted Qin Ci on the shoulder. “Let’s go. It’s getting dark outside.”

“I want to listen to the radio one last time in this world,” Qin Ci said as he pulled out a small, retro-looking radio.

Mu Yiran obviously didn’t expect Qin Ci to be carrying a radio with him. While slightly surprised, he ...

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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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