Twelve
I jerk my head back behind the couch. I didn’t see how many guardians there were, but they’re definitely not leaving. I hear the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps entering the bar. They come to a stop, and I imagine the guardians looking around. They’re probably trying to decide whether the few unmarked patrons in this bar are worth the effort. Or perhaps they’re thinking how ridiculously easy this is going to be for them.
A single pair of footsteps moves toward the bar—toward the couch we’re hiding behind. We creep around to the side, beneath the stuffed arm of the couch. I catch a glimpse of a male figure. Tall. Long, black coat. Dark hair with blue-black streaks. I duck down and watch through the legs of a low table. He takes slow, purposeful strides toward the bar. His blac
