For a long, agonizing minute, the only sound in the garage was the distant hum of the city and the ragged, uneven rhythm of our breathing.
I stood my ground, my chest heaving, my wounded hand trembling at my side. I stared him down, waiting for the Ice King to deliver a cold, final dismissal. I expected him to straighten his tie, adjust his cuffs, and walk back into the ballroom to reclaim his "heritage."
But the man standing in front of me didn't move.
William's gaze was fixed on mine, but the blue was gone, replaced by a dark, swirling storm of shock and something that looked dangerously like panic. The words "I'm done with this" seemed to hang in the stagnant air between us, vibrating like a live wire. I watched as his jaw tightened so hard I thought I heard the bone crack. A single vein throbbed at his temple, and his pupils were so blown they nearly swallowed the irises.
