Chapter 89
Alfonzo walked with heavy steps toward the rubble.
Logan lay amid broken stone and splintered wood, his chest heaving, eyes wide with disbelief. To him, this rank-four guard was a monster. Not in raw power—but in something far worse.
How?
The Northern Beast no longer understood how he had ended up here, buried in debris, his body screaming in agony. Most of the alcohol that had clouded his mind had burned away, replaced by pain and shock. For the first time since stumbling through the inn door, his thoughts were painfully clear.
Alfonzo stopped above him. He raised the gun, pressed it against Logan's hand, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
His finger sank.
All that emerged was a low, almost gentle hum and a small wave of heat. What followed was a perfect, clean hole straight through Logan's elbow.
"AHHHHH!"
