'1000 years,' Altair wondered, unable to even imagine the amount of time that really was. It seemed only like words on paper rather than a reality.
He exchanged looks with Tasha before settling his face back on the butler. Tasha seemed to understand because she stood up, spinning on her heel, and said, "Leave. The Young Master will not be seeing anyone."
Anklem practically paled. "Young Master. Allow me to—" his words fell on deaf ears as Tasha conjured a sword forged out of Mana and pressed it against his throat.
"Leave!" Tasha demanded, drawing a sliver of blood.
Anklem froze before retreating a few steps. With a dismissive bow, he left without another word.
Neither Altair nor Tasha spoke until they saw Anklem ordering a few servants to drag Layla away.
"I wasn't sure of Nox's mannerisms or if he has an accent, so I didn't speak," Altair explained.
"We could make up a cover story," said Tasha. "Amnesia or something."
