With a roar of fury, Joseph—his silver armor gleaming in the firelight—unsummoned his sword and seized Jenna by the collar of her black tank top.
"Why the fuck did you leave her alone?" he shouted, his voice raw with rage.
Jenna writhed in his grasp, but before she could speak, the Grey Monk stepped forward.
His spear materialized in a shimmer of light, its gleaming point leveled just inches from Joseph's throat. He said nothing. His glare burned brighter than the flames around them, green eyes blazing beneath the shadows cast on his bald, slick scalp.
Then James moved in.
He placed a hand on the Monk's shoulder, not to restrain him, but to show power; his grip was iron-tight.
"Go ahead," James muttered, voice low and venomous. "Give me a reason."
Blythe stood frozen, still reeling from the sight of her friend's hands lying cold in the sand, severed and twitchless. Her mouth opened, but no words came.
