"Good, good," Mister murmured, his voice a wet, heavy rumble that seemed to vibrate through the damp concrete of the basement.
He watched with a gluttonous satisfaction as the Kurosaki women were unloaded from the truck.
Some of the younger cousins and aunts moved with trembling limbs, huddled together, while two of the more resilient women provided a steadying anchor for Erina, whose wheelchair had been lowered to the ground.
"Everyone has already gathered in my office," Mister continued, a greasy smear of a smile crossing his face. "The Inner Circle is hungry. We can begin the feast at any time. The wine is decanted, and the appetites are sharp. Now, drag them to the—"
"Mister!"
Just then, a sharp, panicked cry cut through the air, interrupting him.
Mister's brow furrowed into deep, fatty ridges of irritation as he turned his massive head slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits.
