The Dark Lord had not moved.
He stood exactly as he was, head tilted, arms loose at his sides, wearing that same terrible smile. He had not braced himself. Had not shifted his weight. Had not even bothered to look at Rhys with both eyes fully open.
That was the most frightening thing.
Not the blood on his robes. Not the scorch marks Lady Amy had carved into his jaw. Not even the black energy still crackling faintly around his hands like embers that hadn't decided whether to go out or not. It was the posture. The absolute, insulting calm of a man who had already decided, before the fight had even started, that nothing standing in front of him was worth adjusting his breathing for.
[ Kid, ] Alvin said quietly. [ His guard is completely open on the left side. Lady Amy's last attack burned through the muscle. He's compensating, barely. You won't get a better window than this. ]
