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... man looked to be in his early twenties and had brown hair. The bags under his eyes made it seem like he hadn't had a good night's rest in a long time.

The next moment, the man threw the letter into a corner of his packed room.

The room was filled with sheets of paper, clutter, and packaging material.

"That's not enough!" the man shouted with suppressed rage and frustration. "Fucking shitty-ass customers!"

He felt like a mountain of proverbial pressure was pressin ...

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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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