Reinfort's eyes narrowed as Gill's familiar face emerged from the shadows. Despite the pain, despite the blood seeping from his wounds, a grim smile touched his lips.
"So you're still alive, you fraud." His voice was weak, but the contempt in it was unmistakable. "I should have known. Nothing kills a cockroach like you."
Gill's expression shifted—a flash of something cold behind those grey eyes. Without warning, he stepped forward and drove his boot into Reinfort's chest.
The old knight gasped, fresh blood bubbling from his lips as the impact aggravated his wounds. Beside him, Valdris stirred weakly, unable to intervene.
"Cockroach?" Gill's voice was soft, almost pleasant, but his eyes were hard as stone. "Thanks to you, I just went through hell." He pressed down harder, watching Reinfort's face contort with pain. "And this is the gratitude I get?"
Reinfort's hand twitched toward his sword, but Gill's foot pressed harder, pinning him in place.
