"Amy, take Ugly Duckling upstairs. You'll find its food there," Mag said with a smile.
"You made something special for it, Father?"
"Yes."
"Okay," Amy said happily. She licked her empty bowl, slid down the chair, and picked the kitten up. "No braised chicken for you, Ugly Duckling. Let's see what Father has made for you."
Mag watched Amy leave and stood up as Barzel walked in.
"You know why we're here," Brazel said, staring at Mag, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's. He's strangely calm after killing a man—he must have got used to it.
Barzel had spent 20 years in the Gray Temple, and had arrested many murderers himself, but no one had been as emotionless as Mag. Murderers always look scared, but not him.
Mag saw the letter "P" embroidered on his front, and realized he was one of the patrol guys. He met his eyes without blinking. "Yes."
