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... Ironin."

When Arthur mentioned it, Veronica looked at him.

"What do you want to talk about?" she inquired.

Arthur arranged thoughts in his head before asking, "When he was around you, did he... look strange to you?"

"Strange?" Veronica was intrigued. "What kind of strange?"

"Any kind."

"I don't think so... I mean, he never talks much and always has a poker face on so that you won't be able to read his mind. He didn't act out of character. Why do yo ...

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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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