On the other side of the house, Lui was looking less like a man and more like a jittery skeleton who'd overdosed on espresso.
The dude was wrapped in a bedsheet like some bargain-bin ghost cosplayer, crouched in the corner of his room with only his wild, darting eyes peeking out.
He was shivering so much it looked like he was about to vibrate through the floor.
Every little noise—a creak of the floorboards, a faint breeze, a goddamn pin dropping—had him jumping like he was auditioning for a horror movie scream queen.
His eyes were the real showstopper, though: wide, bloodshot, and locked in a manic stare at one very specific spot in the room.
That spot, right there on the floor. The one where the knight had fallen after Artis handed him his shiny-armored ass.
The same spot where Lui, in a moment of pants-shitting panic, had plunged a knife into the guy's unconscious chest, fearing the aftermath of the showdown.
Now?
