Things seemed to be going smoothly for Kallen, and somehow, the fact that he had killed Nestor had turned out to be the perfect catalyst for everything that followed.
Nestor's death loosened the grip Menelaus had over the underground—or more specifically, over their minds. It allowed the shadows in their hearts to fester, giving Kallen room to slide into their thoughts unnoticed.
Menelaus's presence became fleeting—as he managed the showroom of sorts on the surface, he now returned only at dusk, leaving Kallen the rest of the day to do whatever he pleased.
It shortened his training time, yes, but it accelerated the speed of his plans.
Knock! Knock!
Kallen raised an eyebrow, then stood and opened the door.
A girl, maybe fifteen, stood there with a tray, and an assortment of scraps that could only be described as leftovers. She had pale green skin and a nervous posture, eyes darting like she was both here willingly and desperately trying to flee.
