Deep Down Your Black Heart
A faint beep broke the tension, drawing Hound’s attention downward.
“Tell me,” Hound continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl, “who do you serve? Emily or me?”
Beep! The sound came again, sharper, faster. The Seer’s body stiffened, the slight tremor in his stance betraying his fear. It all clicked in Hound’s mind—the unusual confusion over hierarchy, the absence of any soul magic in his tear tattoo. This man wasn’t a Seer. He was an assassin.
Time slowed as Hound processed the realization. His instincts screamed for him to act, but the countdown ticked on. Too late. The bomb strapped to the assassin’s chest was seconds away from detonation. There was no time to counter, no time to
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