"The Fixer Club," she said. Her voice was soft, melodic, but there was no warmth in it.
"I've heard of you."
"You killed them," Nero said. "Liana. Theron. You made them kill themselves."
The figure tilted her head, considering him. "I gave them peace."
"You murdered them."
"They were suffering. I could see it. The weight of their lives, the pain, the fear. I released them." She raised her glowing hands. "I can release you too."
Nero's grip tightened on his sword. "Try."
The figure smiled. It was the same smile. Crooked. Unnatural.
And then the room exploded into light, but the light was wrong—pale, silvery, like moonlight made solid. Nero threw himself sideways, the beam passing where his chest had been. It struck the wall behind him, and the stone blackened, cracked, crumbled. Not fire. Not lightning. Something older.
