To Ned's left side were people walking to and fro, too far for them to hear the conversation between him and the toothed-mask guy.
Ned didn't answer. Instead, his eyes fell on a symbol over the man's left chest. A tiny symbol, almost hidden from close observers, but clear enough when one's eye meticulously observe the pattern. Three drops of blood in a swirling motion, in the center of the swirling blood, was an eye; blank, hollow.
"Too young to be Ghostbloods," Quintin had said to Ned over their first meeting, for some reason, after seeing the blood symbol, Quintin's voice echoed inside of Ned. He frowned,
could be?
"Ghostbloods," Ned whispered.
The man in toothed-mask twitched. His hands, with knives, in-between knuckles, flinched, and it seemed that the red eyes over his mask glared at Ned with the pure intent of ire.
"How'd you know about Ghostbloods?" He said.
Ned said, "Does it matter?"
