Mordaunt cut himself off. He had just caught sight of Aurienne’s forearm, where Scrope’s literal manhandling had left a mark. His eyes, usually heavy lidded with insouciance, real or affected, flew open. His face lost all cynicism. His slouch disappeared. His scar became a vivid white line across his lips. A second later, it was over. He fell back into his slouch, veiled his eyes, regained his cynicism, and said, “Pity Scrope’s already dead. Could’ve had a bit more fun with him.
