"Those people," she said, her voice soft. It was more a confirmation than a question. "You're the one who dealt with them?"
Jude Sheffield looked up. His eyes, once so clear, were now steeped in darkness, yet they met Josie Quinn's gaze without flinching.
He didn't hesitate or try to explain himself. He just uttered a single, clear word: "Yeah."
He stood, smoothly sheathing the dagger in the leather holster at his waist. The movement was fluid and brimming with power.
"I wasn't rash. I've been waiting months for this day."
The boy's voice was as calm as if he were stating a simple fact, yet it held a bottomless hatred and the grim satisfaction of a vengeance finally taken.
The helplessness he'd felt, watching his sister be tormented while he could do nothing, had now been forged into the strength to slit his enemies' throats with his own hands.
Josie Quinn saw the viciousness that hadn't yet faded from his eyes and sighed to herself.
