The dagger flew, drawing a shout of pain, a clack of snapping teeth. The blade buried into Skul Drek’s side to the hilt. In another breath, Roark rushed the assassin. Skul Drek waved a hand and the dagger clattered to the floorboards when Roark met him with the second blade. “No!” I snatched hold of the stoker near the inglenook. My cry snapped Skul Drek from his haze. Like a haunt in the night, he slipped through the open window without a sound, fading into the darkness. Roark stumbled toward the window, clutching his side, sweat on his brow. Gods, he’d been struck.
My brain hurts but this is confirming my suspicions
