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Summary
Ivan didn’t dignify his retort with an answer. His fingers brushed over the leather on his sheath.
“Touch him again,” Ivan’s voice came out flat. Not a threat. Not a request.
His thoughts reprimanded him; telling him not here, Ivan ignored it.
He just needed a reason.
Till sniffled, pain blooming into a headache as he cradled his forehead. Freddie cackled, finding his discomfort funny. He lunged forward, his arm shooting out ready to gather a fistful of Till’s hair.
Ivan got his reason.
His katana made a sharp, clean sound as it withdrew from his waist. It happened so fast, no one processed the motion–until Freddie’s arm was rolling on the floor and blood was gushing out of where it used to be.
This story is now available in Russian, translated by like_a_black_sorrow
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Bookmarked by Eclecticcat
31 Aug 2025