16
Daniel kept touching the keys on his keyboard every other second as he pretended to write his report on the events at the farmhouse.
He told himself he was just figuring out how to explain the day’s events without sounding like a madman. However, the reality was the small tactile sensation reminded him he still had fingers.
This better not develop into a permanent tic. That was the last thing he needed. His coworkers were already giving him grief for calling in the cavalry to the farmhouse and then disappearing.
None of the men had been apprehended. Whatever bodies Serin had felled with that sword or with one of her killer kicks to the head were gone, dragged away by the others no doubt. The only proof they were ever there was the multitude of severed fingers and that one hand. Oh,
