Haldon moved with a single, blurred step, the death sickle aimed for Hadrian's neck.
The teen did not falter; his expression remained calm. At the last moment, Haldon came to an abrupt stop, the edge of the blade inches from Hadrian's throat.
Then, Haldon stepped back, lowered the sickle, and stood straight, a full head taller than Hadrian.
Flicking his wrist, the death sickle vanished.
Hadrian leaned back against the parapet with a slight grin. "What's the problem? I came to talk," he said.
Haldon's pupils constricted. In the next moment, like someone who'd been holding their breath and suddenly let it out, he seemed to regain control of his body.
"You pulled that same trick," Haldon said, his usual confidence in his voice.
The 'trick' he referred to was the inability to sense Hadrian, even with his spatial sense active.
Of course, that was merely the result of the Mystical Fog Shroud and Haldon's rank.
Hadrian shrugged.
