The smell of iron filled the hallway instantly.
Ross lowered his arm slowly, as if he had merely swatted a fly.
His expression didn't change.
He didn't even bother wiping off the blood splattered across his cheek.
He simply looked at the remaining four men, each one frozen, drenched in the gore of their comrade, shaking like cornered prey.
Ross smiled faintly.
"Two down…" he murmured. "Who's next?"
Ross's final word was still echoing—still vibrating through the blood-stained hallway—
when the air behind him bent.
A ripple of shadow
a distortion
a whisper—
Then a man materialized directly at Ross's back, like a nightmare stepping out of darkness.
Before the echo even died—
SHHKKT!
A knife stabbed toward Ross's throat with deadly precision, the blade aimed perfectly at the softest part of a human neck.
The attacker's movement was smooth, experienced, practiced from years of killing.
A guaranteed kill.
—Except it wasn't.
The blade struck Ross's skin—
CLANG!
