“Kill him.” The flat-eyed children looked at Fitz. Zero started taking a step toward him. Fitz’s voice was a whip crack, sharp and loud in the echoing chamber. “Stop.” And they did. No magic was involved. Fitz had something more powerful than that. He’d cared for those other kids. He’d thought about them, encouraged them, and led them. That was something every bit as real as mystic power and dark enchantment—and it carries a hell of a lot more weight. Love always does.
