Pride Before the Fall
"Tsk tsk…"
The mocking click of a tongue drifted through the heated air.
Harry Taylor didn't even need to turn his head.
Freddy Lavahound.
Of course it was him.
The smoke stung long before the fire reached them, heavy in the throat, yet Freddy's words turned it sharper. A slow breath came out through flared nostrils. Tension locked into Harry's jaw. Response delayed on purpose - no quick win for that voice.
"Useless," Freddy sneered, strolling forward with deliberate arrogance. "The great Young Master of the Taylor family actually flattering someone? I must have witnessed history today."
