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Grant looks up.
And up.
Vidar stands behind him, perfectly still.
His enormous shoulders fill the sidewalk, his piercing magenta eyes fixed on the hand gripping my wrist.
He doesn’t shout.
Doesn’t threaten.
Somehow, that’s worse.
“Let her go.”
Grant scoffs.
“Who the hell are you?”
Vidar doesn’t answer.
His gaze remains on my wrist.
“Remove your hand.”
Grant laughs.
“Listen, buddy. This is between me and my girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” I snap.
Grant squeezes harder.
I wince.
Vidar’s expression doesn’t change.
But the air grows hot.
A faint crimson glow spreads beneath his skin.
“Let her go,” he repeats.
Grant sneers.
“Or what?”
Vidar takes one step forward.
The pavement cracks beneath his feet.
A deep rumble rolls through Saint Street, rattling the flower shop windows.
Grant’s smile disappears.
Vidar leans closer.
His voice is barely above a whisper.
