When night fell, all doors and windows were tightly closed.
Count Cyrus, whether a genuine count or a mere outlaw, had entertained Hewitt Drayton to the fullest. He not only joined him for dinner but also provided a guest room and handmaids.
But Hewitt had to continue his journey; the hunting must be completed. If he delayed too long, by the time he found Pendragon's hiding place, he might have already reached the surface.
Death is a passage that everyone must go through.
But the Underworld was not meant to be like this.
Niflheim had lost its mistress.
Or had become mentally unstable, at least.
Hewitt returned to the main street of the town.
No one dared to wander outside. Perhaps for fear of the grey mist entering the town, consuming them on the streets, or perhaps out of dread for Cyrus' minions or simply a lack of reason to leave their homes.
The street should have been deserted.
Until Hewitt arrived at that corpse.
