His eyes dropped to my arm, narrowing, and I followed his line of sight. In this tunic, a hand print bruise around my bicep was visible, already purpling. He sat forward as his gaze shifted to my other arm, eyeing the matching mark. “I’ll kill them,” he seethed, deathly still, before jerking to his feet and striding to the door, leaving a trail of swirling smoke in his wake.
