And yelp at the two familiar faces staring back at me, arms folded over their chests like twin towers of intimidation. “I believe you owe me ten gold coins,” Zander murmurs. “Surely it’s the other way around,” Atticus counters. “You didn’t think she would figure it out before the clock struck midnight. I had far more faith in her. Besides, the bed moved before the twelfth gong.” “Splitting hairs, are we?” “Shall we call it even, then?” Zander smirks. “I suppose.”
