"Do you wanna be friends with me?" Henry asked sweetly.
The words echoed in the heavy silence.
But that smile… that voice…
It wasn't something anyone would want to hear—not even in their worst nightmares.
It was wrong.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just unnaturally calm.
The kind of calm that sat next to chaos and whispered to it before the storm hit.
The temperature in the room seemed to dip. Instinctively, several of the youths straightened, hands creeping toward their weapons, breath caught in their throats.
Even Maeve and Bicky, still mid-standoff, froze.
They could all feel it—something was very, very wrong with Henry Bloodgale.
But Bicky, being Bicky, took the moment to sneak in a quick kick.
Maeve, ready as ever, deflected and retaliated. The clash resumed, weapons ringing out as Bicky hurled his usual stream of profanity to provoke her.
Soon, the group's attention shifted back to the duel.
Henry simply shrugged.
And then, like wind, he moved.
