Rattled

Sera

Killian stood in the middle of the hallway, stock-still, his eyes meeting mine instantly as if magnetized. I couldn’t discern if his broad stance looked menacing or lost, as he just lingered there.

Joyce cleared her throat softly. I winced, already forgetting she was there. “I’ll just…go,” she whispered and left the way we had come.

The Hand of Death looked defeated. And, unsurprisingly, there were blood splatters on his hands.

I couldn’t blame him for being so drawn; the list of things that had happened to us both in the past few months, much less the past two days, was too extensive to just take a glance at.

It almost made me want to forget that I was angry at him for his stubbornness and withheld truths. I was still annoyed that he wanted me to play the pretty, dressed-in-red wife until it suited his needs for me to do otherwise, but when he suddenly looked utterly stripped of his armor—not the metal type like the gun secured on his belt—I knew that while I couldn’t forgive hi