At that moment, Oliver's patience was done. Every second wasted at that door was another second Cora was in danger, and he could feel time slipping away like sand through his fingers. His eyes hardened, his chest rising and falling slowly as he measured the space between himself and the nine men blocking him. There was no more talking, only action is required.
He stepped forward, but the wall of bodies instantly moved to match him, forming a tight line. One of them, a thick-set man with a smirk that dared Oliver to make a move, jabbed a finger into Oliver's chest. "Now where do you think you're going?" he said, his tone mocking. "Go back, boy. You don't have any business here."
However the touch was a mistake.
In a single, fluid motion, Oliver's hand shot up, gripping the man's wrist with a force that made his eyes go wide. There was no pause only a sharp, precise twist. The sickening crack of bone snapping tore through the air, followed instantly by the man's agonized scream.
