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... avered slightly as she watched Renard, who seemed utterly lost in his own world.

Instead of answering directly, Renard gestured toward the wooden sword he had just pulled out and placed on the ground.

"Step on this."

Lyla hesitated for a brief moment before cautiously stepping onto the wooden sword as instructed.

Renard nodded, a look of satisfaction crossing his face before he began fastening sandbags onto his body.

Lyla could only watch, her eyes growing ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

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