Anvil wasn't the only one; Tommy fell to his knees as well.
When his other men saw this, they all immediately dropped to their knees.
Rodrick ignored them.
He didn't even spare them a glance.
Because just as the words left his mouth, he caught something in his peripheral vision.
At the living room entrance, where the morning light met the shadows, a dark figure had appeared.
Rodrick whipped around.
Murphy was standing right there.
He was dressed in the same simple, black traditional robe, his ink-black hair draped over his shoulders.
The morning light streamed in from behind, outlining his form with a faint golden halo.
He just stood there quietly, observing everything in the living room: Anvil and his men kneeling on the floor, the shivering Martha and her daughter, and Rodrick.
As if he had been there the whole time.
Rodrick immediately plastered the most respectful, most sycophantic smile he could muster onto his face.
