“You’re right, you do smell bad.” “Screw you,” I mutter, and he cocks a brow. “You wanted to kill me a moment ago. I can’t keep up.” I snort-laugh. “Don’t worry. Few can.” “Is that a challenge?” he asks, stuffing his blade back down his boot. “No. But I will issue one to let me go.” “Heartily decline.” Of course. I hope he doesn’t mind when I heartily slit his throat.
