The bearded man stared at the cloaked figure before him, its face in shadow. He took in the bloody sword it held. Then he screamed. “Oh not yet,” the figure said, “don’t scream yet. We’re just getting started.” And although Adina could hear Aaron’s voice in those words, she heard something else, too. It wasn’t the familiar voice she knew—full of sarcasm and cleverness, confidence and fatalism. This voice, this one was different. It made her think of dark places and dark things, of blood pooling on slick cobbles, of people running and screaming, of children crying and looking for their parents.
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