Benedikt stretched his legs out under the table, hooking one foot around the rung on Marshall’s chair and tugging him forward so he wouldn’t fall. Marshall grabbed his ankle before he could pull it away. “At least we confirmed that we have his correct name,” Benedikt replied. He yanked his ankle once more, trying to get it back. Marshall, mischievously, held on tight. There was no indication in either of their voices of the battle going on under the table.
