The truth was, a stubborn splinter of Jonas Steepfield was still buried in him. Buried so deep it could never be worked free. Buried so deep that it stung at him whenever he backed down, whenever he ran away, whenever he changed sides. And now it worked its way up to the surface. Worked its way up and came out in a long, low growl. “All right, fucker,” he snarled, fist tightening around the grip of his sword. “Let’s have you.” “Have me?” sneered Downside. “Can you even—
