“And the nagging-as-hell voice keeps repeating the same thing.” “Can I have a sword?” Kieran tossed a limp Craven aside. “Can I have a dagger? A stick—?” “Real fucking mature,” Malik snarled. “You’re not getting a weapon.” Casteel kicked off a moss-covered boulder, catching a Craven in the back as I shot forward, bringing the sword down on another’s neck—a small one. Too small. “You’re not getting a weapon. Not even a blunt object such as a rock.”
