They stepped through the door and immediately lost all sense of weight. Their vision became a multitude of color. There was no up, nor down, nor left, nor right. The sensation lasted only moments, but without a horizon or anything solid beneath them, there was no reliable way to judge how far they had moved.
Sisyphus’ grip, however, was sturdy on her arm. He seemed extraordinarily familiar with the sensation and remained steady, giving Eve a sense of direction. His hold neither tightened nor loosened while the colors shifted around them, as though he had crossed through the strange passage often enough that the loss of ordinary space no longer bothered him.
A moment later, the color returned. They were both standing on the doorstep of a business, with the sound of a shop door shutting behind them. Across the street was a bar with a sign that read ‘Clockmaker’s Pub.’ There was a strong smell of fresh bread, and by looking through the glass behind them, it was clear they were in front of a bakery. Pedestrians moved along the street around them without paying the pair unusual attention, carts and carriages passing often enough to fill the road with the regular noise of late morning.
The masks had disappeared as well. However, Sisyphus still wore the same black warlock robe. It was an outfit that made him look like he would read your fortune in a tent for a few pence. Against the ordinary storefronts and people dressed for daytime errands, the garment stood out considerably more than it had inside Mr. Chimera's gathering.
“Are you alright?” He asked with strange kindness. His grip remained secure on her arm, though he had relaxed enough that she could easily pull away if she wished. The darkness beneath his hood turned toward her rather than the bakery window.
"I, " She began speaking, then paused, looking at him. "Your clothes…?" She motioned toward him lightly, almost casually. Her hand never left his arm as she said this. For a moment, she regarded his current look; somehow, it was more terrifying than his other robes.
“It’s the same robe; I’ll change it back when we are not in public.” Sisyphus answered her question quietly, bringing it to her attention that they were loitering in front of a bakery in a busy city near noon. Several people had already passed within a few paces of them, and one woman carrying a wrapped loaf gave his clothing a second glance before continuing down the street.
What seemed to be genuine concern passed over her face, though the actual emotion she held was a mildly different mix.
"Do you need me to buy you new clothing?"
Such an offer caught him off guard, almost making him smile. He settled for a small laugh. His shoulders shifted beneath the loose robe, and for a moment the severe figure standing beside the bakery appeared more amused than threatening.
“My outfit is custom-made for shadows and storage space. I need no other, especially when my robe can change its appearance to something casual.” He shared more than he intended to and did not understand why his potion digested slightly. His body language shifted to puzzlement for a moment, the brief change obvious despite the lack of a visible face. Whatever principle he had unknowingly satisfied, he had not expected a conversation about clothing to touch it.
"So practical…" She shook her head in mock disapproval. "I’ve never heard of such convenient clothing." She pulled him away from the bakery, then frowned slightly as she noticed that the carriage driver had departed. She waved down a new carriage and listened as it rolled up. The driver did not hop off to open the door this time.
Sisyphus disengaged his arm from Eve’s and opened the door with a faint bow, his unseeable face ruining some of the politeness of the action. The movement was practiced enough that the gesture itself remained recognizable despite the robe and hood. The carriage rocked slightly when the door opened, its driver glancing back only once before waiting for them to board.
The woman nodded to him, then stepped inside, watching as he followed her. She leaned back and spoke to the driver.
"Drive." Soon after she slid the small window shut. "You had a protection ritual you wanted to perform?"
Sisyphus nodded. With the window closed, the noise from the street dulled to the steady rhythm of wheels against stone and the occasional call from outside. Curtains reduced the amount of direct sunlight entering the compartment, leaving plenty of shadow around his side of the carriage.
"I can cast it here. How long until the ‘job’?" From inside his robe, Sisyphus grabbed the few different ingredients from various pockets, sending ripples of visible movement through his outer robe. His tone was leading; he wanted to learn more than just the time. Several small objects shifted beneath the layers before his hands finally emerged.
The woman looked him over curiously for a moment, her head tilting. She paused, then, for the first time with him specifically, tried to dig somewhat deeper for meaning.
"About an hour? Two if needed."
He shook his head, declining Evelyn’s offer. His own protection and offensive rituals had already been cast on himself; he only needed to cast one on Evelyn. A divination would also be required, though he lacked enough details to get an accurate prediction of the danger of the job. He arranged what he needed across the empty portion of the seat beside him, careful to keep every item from rolling when the carriage turned.
“One hour is plenty; rituals can be done within minutes. Watch carefully.” Sisyphus’ hands left the confines of his robe, one holding a candle and a match, the other a curved silver knife. He made a quick slash at the air beside him while speaking the Ancient Hermes word ‘barrier.’ The air pressure visibly thickened in the corners of the carriage. The shift was subtle but immediate, muting the ordinary sense that the outside world existed only beyond a thin wooden wall.
"First, you need a silver or gold knife. Slash at the air while saying the word ‘barrier’ in any mystical language." Sisyphus instructed calmly, pocketing the silver knife back into his robe. The candle remained unlit in his other hand. He watched Evelyn long enough to see whether she had followed the first step before continuing.
The woman watched him carefully, her eyes following his movements. She had never seen such things done, nor did she recognize the word he spoke or understand what a mystical language was.
"I… see." To Sisyphus, her expression was similar to how a non-Beyonder might react to a friend attempting to show them a parlor trick.
Sisyphus continued upon hearing her response, but seemed to lose a bit of confidence in both his teaching and Evelyn's ability to learn this. The darkness beneath his hood turned toward the silver knife he had just hidden, then back to her. Teaching ritual magic inside a moving carriage was proving more difficult than simply performing it himself.
“The barrier will prevent prying eyes and ensure only what is summoned will approach. Only summon creatures whose three-part honorific names you know; a random creature is likely to kill you. Summonable creatures include those of the spirit world and any human with godhood. Gods are often prayed to for boons in this manner, though they don’t appear before the caster.” His voice remained patient despite the seriousness of the warning. The sealed carriage seemed smaller once the possibility of accidentally summoning something lethal had been introduced into it.
The woman stayed quiet at this, as if speaking would break some unsaid agreement. She continued watching him, her hands folded in her lap.
Sisyphus took the match into his right hand and lit the candlestick he was holding in his left. He held it out in front of him and continued to explain. The small flame rocked with the movement of the carriage but did not gutter, its light reflecting faintly from the silver fittings along the door.
"To summon a basic creature, you can pray to yourself. Stronger effects require a prayer to a God for them to be granted. First pray to your source, then recite the three-line name in a mystical language. Like so, "
He began to speak a language Evelyn didn't understand, as the carriage began to feel colder.
"I summon in my name,
The Spirit that wanders about the unfounded,
A Hand that protects its owner from harm,
A Shadow that belongs solely to Evelyn."
The only recognizable word was her own name. As it was said, she saw her own shadow flicker sporadically with no obvious cause. The candlelight continued moving across the floor, but the disturbance in the darkness beneath her feet did not match the flame.
She allowed her head to turn slightly, her eyes glancing toward her shadow. She watched it flicker, though not a single hint of surprise showed on her face, as if she were familiar with things of this nature.
"I see… it seems I have much studying to do."
After a moment, the shadow stabilized. A bead of melted wax dripped from the candlestick onto Sisyphus’ thinly gloved finger. He showed no obvious reaction despite his spiritual aura indicating pain. He snuffed the candle with his right gloved hand and pocketed it back inside his robe. The smell of burnt wick lingered faintly in the enclosed compartment.
"My messenger can be summoned the same way, though it can be spoken in any tongue. Its name is:
The spirit that wanders about the unfounded,
A whisperer who hides in the dark,
A messenger that belongs solely to Sisyphus"
He paused for a few seconds between each line, breaking it apart so it was not accidentally summoned. The deliberate spacing made the difference between instruction and invocation obvious even without Evelyn understanding the mystical mechanics behind it.
"The cost of summoning it is one negative thought or emotion."
"Negative? Why is that?"
Sisyphus paused for a minute, considering how much he should explain his abilities and pathway. The carriage passed over a rougher section of road, shaking the compartment lightly while he remained silent. When he finally answered, his tone was more cautious than before.
"It’s a creature of shadow and matches my pathway well, allowing me to contract with it easily. Such creatures are bound to have… odd desires." He left the explanation there. The wording suggested that unusual payment was common enough among spirits that he saw little purpose in questioning the creature's preference.
Evelyn thought to herself for a moment, her lips moving as she translated something within her own mind. Eventually, she spoke, though she had no ritual objects.
"Ta mee geamagh ayns my ennym,
Yn Spyrryd ta goll er-gerrey da'n un-foddey,
Lhoob ta coadey e eirey veih olk,
Scadoo ta bentyn rish Evelyn ny lomarcan.
Gef ny Gap Cashen"
The woman seemed entirely calm as she did this, her eyes wandering to the shadow that sat at her feet.
Confusion fell across Sisyphus’ face. It was a language he did not know and sounded like none he had ever heard. It made his skin crawl. Despite not knowing the tongue, he could tell there were five lines to it. His posture stiffened enough to make the change visible beneath the heavy robe.
"Without a lit candle to represent yourself, it’s unlikely to succeed, but it still can. Modifying or creating a name is extremely dangerous. I don’t know what you just said, but there is a chance that it could have killed us both. There are things in this world that must not be seen or heard." In a stern voice, he spoke. Whatever uncertainty he had shown while teaching vanished beneath the seriousness of the warning.
"It is something that exists." She glanced at the candle he had and the matches. "Shall I try again, or should I wait for Lucien?" It was a mild jest as she looked away and out the window.
"If you wish to experiment with names, I suggest you do it after our contract concludes. And always include a line stating 'a creature friendly to humans' or some variation." He relaxed his posture and dismissed the spiritual barrier as the ritual attempts concluded, once again hiding his arms and hands inside his oversized cloak. The pressure in the corners of the carriage faded until the compartment felt ordinary again.
The woman went absolutely silent as she stared out the window, though it seemed as if she stared past the landscape itself. After a moment or two, she leaned back, informed the carriage driver of their desired location, then shut the window with a click.
Once a moment of silence marked the end of the conversation, Sisyphus moved on to his next action. From another pocket, he produced a topaz pendulum suspended from a chain of black iron. The stone swung gently with the motion of the carriage until he steadied it between his fingers.
"I will be in danger on this job."
The pendulum spun clockwise with high amplitude but slow speed. Sisyphus frowned. A deadly amount of danger that could be avoided. A trap, perhaps? Only by being negligent would there be a chance of death. The result was unpleasant, but far from the worst answer the divination could have given.
"An acceptable amount of danger, but you should be careful of an ambush. Keep your eyes open." He spoke to Evelyn, believing her to be much more vulnerable than himself. The pendulum slowed between his fingers before he returned it to the folds of his robe.
"It will probably be an ambush, seeing as we only got this location from an invitation." She sounded mildly annoyed as she said this. "A letter showed up on our doorstep at the manor, which tells us two things… that the employer of the one we’re going to speak to knows where the manor is, and that they know we live within it." Another flash of annoyance chewed through her mind, but this time she did not let it show. Damn Lucien and his games, pushing us into situations that this body cannot handle.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"We are going to meet with a man by the name of Edwin Vale. I assume you will hear many things about me in this meeting that I would prefer you not hear, so I ask, as stipulated in our contract, that you do not repeat any of the information."
They already know where you live? Sisyphus thought. They are trying to lure her out, most likely away from Lucien. The detail changed the shape of the job more than the divination had. Whoever waited for them had chosen both the place and the invitation with enough confidence to reveal knowledge of Evelyn's residence.
"Will they attempt to nab you or kill you? The latter if they can’t do the former?" Sisyphus asked a question important to his approach to the fight. If they did not wish to kill her, his job would be a lot easier. Captors had limitations that murderers did not, particularly when their intended target had to remain alive.
"The former." The speed with which she answered said much more than any words she could have spoken. "Lucky for them, Lucien seems dead-set on putting my life in danger once again."
"Hmph." What a strange relationship they have, he thought. Whatever arrangement bound Evelyn to Lucien did not resemble any ordinary patronage Sisyphus recognized.
"This will be for our benefit. I will be focusing on those who intend to kill me first, but I will not let you get grabbed in the process." He settled back as the carriage continued onward. The matter sounded simple when reduced to priorities, even if the pendulum had already warned him otherwise.
The carriage came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a hospital, one that was very much still in use. A few patients and nurses moved outside while most of the building’s activity remained within. The exterior lacked any obvious sign that something dangerous waited below it, and the ordinary movement around the entrance made the location more uncomfortable rather than less. Whatever Vale had arranged, he had chosen somewhere where violence would immediately become complicated.
Evelyn stepped out of the vehicle quietly, then paid the carriage fare. She tipped her hat slightly forward, blocking the sun from her face.
Without much hesitation, she stepped towards the hospital entrance. Hardly anyone looked her way as she looked to be a visitor of some current patient, dressed modestly yet comfortably.
Sisyphus had already Lurked, attached to Evelyn. He viewed the world through a dark filter, but stayed keen on her surroundings. Every passing figure received at least a moment of his attention, particularly those lingering near doors or watching the entrance for longer than ordinary curiosity required.
The woman climbed the steps, then passed through the front doors and approached the front desk of the Victorian hospital. For a moment, she glanced around, taking in the details, then turned to the nurse at the desk.
"I am here for a meeting with Mister Vale," she said in a low voice, though loudly enough that the nurse heard and immediately understood her request.
"Down the hall on the left, fifth door. There should be stairs behind the door." Evelyn waved to her, then walked away, the nurse calling after her. "Be careful you don’t trip!"
As they stepped farther into the massive building, Evelyn kept her hat upon her head. This drew glances from a couple of people, as it made her stand out from the nurses. The smell of disinfectant strengthened farther from the entrance, joined by medicine, clean linen, and the faint human odors of a place where too many sick people passed through the same halls.
It was a… unique environment for Sisyphus. The enemies would be unlikely to be loud, and they might have more allies upstairs. He considered his plans accordingly. Any fight below would have to account for the civilians above them, narrow corridors, and the possibility that reinforcements could come from more than one direction.
Evelyn paused in front of the door. The hesitation lasted more than a couple of seconds, as though she were forcing herself forward by will alone. Her hand gripped the doorknob, its carved crystal handle glinting slightly in the light.
"Do not kill him," she growled under her breath as she opened the door.
Sisyphus acknowledged the words but was once again confused. Evelyn was sometimes… inconsistent. Perhaps it had something to do with what hovered around her, the spirit he actively avoided looking at. Whatever the reason, the instruction was clear enough to obey unless Vale made leaving him alive impossible.
Her boots tapped lightly on the stone stairs as she stepped deeper into the building’s basement. Her eyes remained on the railing and the steps themselves, taking the nurse’s caution to heart. The sounds of the hospital changed as they descended, ordinary conversation and movement fading behind thick walls until the echo of each footstep became more distinct.
Eventually, she reached the main floor of the basement, her face scrunching slightly at the smell of formaldehyde and ammonia. She had never liked the smell of hospitals or the deceased. The colder air held both scents stubbornly, settling into the throat and clinging to the back of the tongue.
Her feet led her deeper, turning a corner, following what appeared to be a light in a dimmer section of the basement.
"Edwin, I have arrived as requested."
The light originated from an examination room adjoining the main morgue. Its door had been left partially open, allowing a narrow strip of yellow-white illumination to fall across the tiled floor. Metal drawers lined the walls beyond it, each marked with a numbered plate. A drain sat beneath the central table, its dark grate stained by years of disinfectant and use. Nothing moved immediately in answer to Evelyn's arrival.
There was no immediate answer. Then came the measured snap of a glove being pulled from one hand. The small sound carried easily through the morgue, followed by quiet movement from within the examination room. Sisyphus remained buried in Evelyn's shadow.
Edwin Vale stepped into view from the examination room. He wore a dark coat over clothing too neat for the basement, with his sleeves folded precisely at the wrists. He appeared little changed from the man who had spent so much time standing beside Dr. Vane, watching, recording, and carrying out whatever handling the doctor considered beneath his direct attention. Nothing about his posture suggested surprise at seeing Evelyn alone.
His eyes moved over Evelyn from head to foot. It was not the look of a man greeting an acquaintance. It was an inspection, familiar and practiced, as though confirming that a misplaced subject had been returned in acceptable condition. His attention paused on small details rather than remaining on her face.
“You came.” There was no relief in his voice. Only quiet satisfaction. Vale remained just within the examination-room doorway, leaving several feet of open tile between them.
“I had considered the possibility that your newfound independence might have made you irrational.” Vale placed the removed glove upon the edge of the examination table, smoothing it flat with two fingers. The action was unnecessarily precise. His attention never fully left Evelyn.
“But you were always more responsive when presented with information you believed you required.” His attention returned to her face. Behind him, the examination room remained bright enough to leave the rest of the morgue comparatively dim. No attempt had been made to disguise that other people could be waiting beyond the open doorway.
“You want Dr. Vane. I know where he is.” The faintest suggestion of a smile touched his expression, restrained enough to look almost clinical. He allowed the statement to remain between them for a moment before continuing.
“The question is whether you are capable of listening before you create another unnecessary complication.”
"Unnecessary complication? Are you referring to that independence that I earned myself?" She grimaced slightly. Her expression fed the idea that she was uncomfortable, vulnerable even.
"To be quite truthful, I thought it would be a shame to remain under one roof for too long. The idea of the outside world was too alluring and I am certainly a bored young woman. You would know this even better than Dr. Vane, wouldn't you?"
Vale’s expression did not change at the accusation. If anything, the word independence seemed to interest him only as a symptom might. His gaze remained steady, without the irritation or defensiveness that would have made the exchange feel personal.
Before he answered, a man emerged quietly from the adjoining room and moved to Vale’s side. His attention had remained fixed upon Evelyn’s clothing rather than her face. He leaned close enough that his words would not carry clearly across the morgue. The newcomer did not attempt to introduce himself.
“She has something valuable in one of her pockets.” Vale’s eyes lowered briefly toward Evelyn’s coat and skirt, though he made no immediate demand for whatever had been detected. The man's confidence suggested he had used an ability rather than simple observation. After giving his report, he remained close to Vale instead of withdrawing.
A second figure stepped into the light shortly afterward. This one watched Evelyn with far greater concentration, studying the grimace, the tension around her mouth, and the careful vulnerability written across her features. His eyes moved between details with the focus of someone accustomed to reading behavior rather than searching clothing.
“She is uncomfortable,” the man reported quietly. “Defensive. The mention of her independence matters to her. She wants to appear confident, but she feels exposed here.” The assessment was delivered with certainty. Vale accepted it without question, unaware that every expression offered to his Spectator had been shaped by someone standing a Sequence above him.
“Yes,” Vale said at last, his attention settling fully upon Evelyn again. “I knew your temperament better than the doctor did. He was interested in results. I was responsible for making certain you remained cooperative long enough for him to obtain them.” He clasped his hands behind his back, posture straight and unhurried. The two men beside him remained silent.
“You did not earn independence, Eve. You escaped supervision.” His gaze remained sterile despite the faint condescension in his voice. He spoke the words as though the distinction were self-evident.
“Boredom was always one of your more predictable difficulties. Leave you without sufficient stimulation and you began testing boundaries merely to confirm they still existed." Vale took one measured step closer, though he remained outside immediate reach. The polished sole of his shoe sounded sharply against the tile.
"You’re still talking like I am some rat in a cage. It always made me wonder how people like you could exist in a world like this. Viewing humans as experiments. Why did you ever agree to work for him to begin with? Do you not find this work to be… inhumane?" Her lips tightened into a thin line of heavy disapproval. At Vale’s movement, she took a step back, displaying her unwillingness to be near him.
Vale stopped when Evelyn stepped back. He did not pursue the lost distance immediately. His gaze lingered upon the tightened line of her mouth, studying the display of moral revulsion with the same detached attention he once gave her reactions during examinations. The pause did not resemble hesitation.
“Rat is an imprecise comparison,” he replied. “A rat is disposable. You were not.” There was no warmth in the distinction. The Spectator at his side remained attentive to Evelyn's posture rather than to Vale.
“I agreed to work with Dr. Vane because his research produced answers. Conventional physicians encounter something they do not understand and call it impossible. Priests call it profane. Authorities bury it beneath procedure and superstition. Vane examined it.” Vale adjusted one of his cuffs, apparently untroubled by the accusation. “‘Inhumane’ is a convenient word. It allows people to condemn the method while accepting every benefit produced by it.”
The Spectator beside him continued watching Evelyn closely, taking her retreat as confirmation of discomfort rather than recognizing it as something deliberately displayed. He leaned nearer to Vale. The slight angle of his head suggested increasing confidence rather than doubt.
“She is disgusted,” he murmured. “But frightened as well. She does not want you closer.” Vale acknowledged the report with the smallest inclination of his head. The conclusion appeared to satisfy him.
“My function was not to decide whether the work was kind,” he continued. “It was to ensure that the doctor’s subjects remained alive, stable, and usable. In your case, that required considerably more attention than usual.” His eyes settled upon her with restrained superiority. Nothing in his tone suggested that the words alive and usable belonged to different moral categories.
“You remember restraints and locked doors. You apparently do not remember who monitored your breathing when Vane pushed too far. Who corrected dosages he considered acceptable. Who prevented him from continuing when your body was already failing.” Vale allowed a brief silence to settle between them. The hum of the examination-room light became noticeable in the pause.
“I did not view you as a person because that was never relevant to the work. I viewed you as something rare that had to be preserved.” The faintest clinical smile returned. "And despite your objections, Eve, you are standing here alive because I was very good at it.”
"You are disgusting, Vale. My body was in tatters by the time I decided to escape you and your vile doctor. It’s taken me an entire year to get to a point where I can live properly again, like a normal person. To be free of the pain you, the doctor, and everyone around you caused me and all the others you experimented on." She sneered at him as she said this last bit. "I knew I wasn’t the only one. I know you tried keeping that information from me, but you failed."
Her hands balled at her sides in anger as she stepped backward again, this time purposefully forcing distance between them.
"I feel no gratitude toward you, vile thing."
Vale regarded her balled hands without alarm. The anger appeared to interest him more than the accusation itself, another measurable response to be considered and recorded. His eyes moved once toward the Spectator beside him, but the man offered no correction to his earlier reading.
“A normal person,” he repeated with quiet skepticism. This time, when Evelyn stepped backward, Vale followed. His shoes crossed the tiled floor with slow, measured steps. He made no sudden movement and displayed none of the caution one might expect when approaching an angry woman.
His confidence remained rooted in long familiarity with her physical weakness. He merely reclaimed the distance she attempted to place between them, moving at a pace that forced her either to stop or continue yielding ground. Behind him, neither of his companions intervened.
“You survived injuries that should have left you permanently incapacitated. You escaped under conditions that should have made escape impossible. Your body recovered from damage that would have ruined an ordinary patient.” He continued forward, forcing her either to hold her ground or surrender more of the room to him. The examination table and wall of drawers left fewer open directions the farther he advanced.
“And now you stand before me as a Beyonder.” The word fell into the morgue without ceremony. Vale watched her face closely, his expression carrying the quiet satisfaction of a physician confirming a diagnosis. The Spectator beside him sharpened his attention as well.
“Did you truly believe we would not recognize it?” His gaze passed over her eyes, her posture, and the deliberate tension in her hands. He did not wait for an answer before continuing.
“The changes. Your control. The way you observe every person in this room. You are no longer what escaped from Vane’s care.” Vale stopped only when he had drawn uncomfortably close. Formaldehyde and the clean scent of his clothing cut through the colder air between them.
“You accuse us of leaving your body in tatters, yet you neglect the more relevant result. We broke the limitations of that body. We subjected you to conditions no ordinary person could withstand, and something within you adapted.” His tone remained sterile, almost instructional. No pride entered it beyond the certainty that he was describing a successful procedure.
“You may have swallowed the potion elsewhere. You may have completed the final procedure without us. That does not mean you made yourself.” The faintest smile tightened one corner of his mouth. His attention remained fixed on her response.
“We prepared you for it.” He leaned slightly toward her, not enough to touch, but enough to make the disparity between their builds impossible to ignore. "Dr. Vane and I made you capable of becoming this.”
The other subjects were dismissed from his voice as easily as they had been from his records. Neither of the men with him reacted to the omission. For Vale, their failure appeared to serve only as contrast.
“They failed. Their bodies collapsed, their minds deteriorated, or they proved fundamentally incompatible. You endured. You escaped. You advanced.” Vale’s eyes narrowed with clinical possession. “You are not evidence that our work was cruel, Eve. You are evidence that it succeeded.” He took one final step, leaving little space between them.
“You can sneer at me. You can call me vile. But do not stand there and pretend that the creature examining me from behind your eyes has nothing to do with what we did to you.” His voice lowered. “We made you, and Dr. Vane intends to finish what he began.”
The woman reeled backward in response to his sudden proximity, an expression of fear on her face. She did not want this; she did not want to be there. He was too close.
"Get. Away." Her voice lowered threateningly as she attempted to get out of the man’s reach.
Vale’s expression sharpened at the fear crossing her face. As Evelyn attempted to retreat, he lunged. One arm swept toward her waist while the other reached for her upper arm, intending to wrench her against him and lift her from the floor. The sudden movement abandoned all of his earlier clinical patience.
“You have been unsupervised, ” His fingers had nearly closed around her when the motion was abruptly interrupted. Vale’s body jerked to a halt halfway through the attempted restraint, his words cut off before he could finish them.