It was Ardin.
The bastard had somehow climbed all the way up onto the balcony, sword in hand, standing across from Finn like a predator cornering its prey.
Finn glanced at the railing beneath him, creaking and groaning under his weight like it was about to give way at any second. Then he glanced at Ardin's. Not a sound. Of course. The universe just hated him.
Their eyes locked—pure, boiling hatred radiating between them.
Ardin smirked. It was the kind of smirk that said you're mine now. No one was here to save Finn. Not this time.
Leveling his oversized sword at Finn, the blade gleaming dramatically in the room for no real reason.
A bead of sweat ran down Finn's temple as he tried not to think about what would happen if it came swinging at him—for no apparent reason at all.
