“So this is the best you could do, is it?” I asked, waving a hand. “This is meant to be my nightmare? The torment that you’d visit upon me, my greatest fears? You’re a moron, Ku-Thule. This is my life. This is what I deal with all the time. I made peace with it long ago.”
It was a quiet day. Roy was working the grill, Walter was in the inventory, and Horace was at the front counter. They were good guys, taking care of the steady flow of customers without needing any input from me. They didn’t need me to get involved. They never did.
I opened my eyes to the smell, thick and cloying, of burnt oil. My heart stopped in my chest. I squeezed the hilts of the two swords that the boy had given me, clinging to them for dear life. This smell had been described to me many times, though I had never been the one to smell it.