A strongarm Rhambos to tear me apart, the Haven son who will disappear and choke me like a shadowed ghost, and Lord Osanos himself to drown Cal’s fire. Arven as well, I remind myself. He stands at the gate, his eyes never leaving my body. Don’t forget the other two. The magnetrons. It’s almost poetic, really. In matching armor, with matching scowls, Evangeline and Ptolemus stare us down, their fists bristling with long, cruel knives. Somewhere in my head, a clock ticks, counting down. Not much time left.
