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Colt didn’t much care for the way Rofal’s men looked at him as he passed them in the hall. Whenever he caught one staring, he would meet their gaze evenly until they averted their eyes. Geoffrey was a different story, however.

“Mr. Colt! I was hoping to see you!” Geoffrey was a strange creature. Not yet a grown man, but he often wore tailored black suits and ties with even blacker undershirts. His dark hair was always sharply cut and combed, and his pointed eyebrows made him look perpetually and indignantly attentive.

Colt wondered if ignoring him would make him go away.

“I heard you killed five people the other day,” said Geoffrey. “How was it? Did they scream a lot?”

He figured not. “No. They didn’t even know what happened.”

“Ah. I see. Efficiency. That’s less fun, but I can appreciate the preference.”

Colt squinted at him as they walked. “What do you want, kid?”

Geoffrey’s brow receded a little. “Only to get to know you better, Mr. Colt. I like you. We’re kindred spirits, I feel. You’re not like the dullards my uncle usually has working for him.”

“The dullards I used to make a habit of killing, you mean.”

Geoffrey’s smile was full of teeth. “My uncle says you’re a true savage.”

“You should hear what he says about you.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“That you’re an irreverent pain in the ass with no mind for the consequences of your actions.”

Geoffrey laughed. “He worries too much. Still doesn’t trust me to handle my own affairs. Well, he’s only human, I suppose.”

It was then that Colt noticed Geoffrey was carrying something.

A severed human hand.