Killian's expression was painted with fear as he was being pushed toward the hover car. When one of Keaton's men shoved him forward, he went limp, then fought, then caught between panic and resignation.
"Second young master!" Killian rasped, voice cracking. "—Mick! D—!"
Mick's eyes flicked down the line of men and landed on Killian. He tried to stand straighter, to grab Killian's hand, but two burly hover cars.
Killian reached, fingers trembling, the movement frantic and pathetic. The door cut across Killian's face as it hissed closed; his palm flattened against the glass and slid down, then, as the hover car lifted.
Neville watched the scene until the last hover-car faded away. He should have felt triumphant, vindicated, but somewhere deep inside him, he almost felt sorry for Killian.
Almost.
