Leo leaned heavily against the oak desk, his chest heaving. The adrenaline that had allowed him to stand his ground was draining away, leaving behind a cold, trembling reality.
He gripped his left forearm. The assassin's blade hadn't gone deep, it was a glancing blow. But it felt like someone had pressed a branding iron against his skin.
He closed his eyes for a second. A clock appeared in the darkness in front of his eyes.
[System Reboot: 17:58:12...]
Eighteen hours.
For eighteen more hours, he was vulnerable. He was a human with a fancy title, a lot of enemies, and a body that bruised like a peach. If a second wave came right now, Leo knew with terrifying certainty that he would die.
Seraphine tore a long strip of white silk from the hem of her nightgown, "Sit down. You're bleeding all over the rug."
Leo sank onto the leather sofa, grinning ear to ear, "It's fine. It's just a scratch."
