Seven minutes had passed since Michael had summoned the skeletons. With one gone already, the other would vanish on its own in three more.
That was the drawback. The undead weren't intelligent, and they weren't permanent. Still, they had their uses. They could scout ahead, spring traps, or serve as bait—just like the assassin had proven a moment ago.
Michael glanced into the fog. The haze swirled faintly, curling and shifting like it had a will of its own. It distorted sight, bent sound, and pressed on instincts until even a veteran's senses could be misled.
What you saw here might not be what was really there.
And the inverse was true as well—what was real could vanish into nothing if the mist decided to conceal it.
That made the thought itch in the back of his skull: perhaps the assassin hadn't killed his skeleton by mistake. Perhaps it had been bait. A lure to draw him closer. If so, then it had worked… though the end result hadn't been in the assassin's favor.
