"Let him go."
She withdrew her claw and released the fistful of hair. Harl sagged forward with a sob, his greasy collar dragging across the soaked sleeve as the healer knelt beside him and pulled folded cloth from his bag.
"Hold still. Let me put pressure on it."
Harl's scream broke halfway through when the cloth met exposed flesh.
"Treat him here," the Guildmaster told the healer. "Bring him up when he can be moved."
Then he addressed the women gathered behind the table.
"Anyone they have threatened or put their hands on, please stay and give your account."
"Finally doing something..." the short-haired woman muttered, eyes narrowed. "I've got plenty to tell you."
Ayame lowered her katana, and Scar pulled her daggers free of Dask's coat before sheathing them. He lurched out of his chair, flinching when his accuser stepped into his path.
"Mind where you're walking," she said.
