"Drop her now, Ian."
Collins narrowed his gaze at Nightwalker.
For a heartbeat, time froze.
Alice hung mid-air, boots scraping at nothing, papers fluttering from the sudden burst of air from the door.
Collins didn't flinch.
He stood in the doorway, trench coat half-open, eyes steady and unreadable.
Nightwalker's grip around her neck suddenly loosened— dropping Alice in a less than graceful way.
Unlike most she didn't cower or hide behind Collins, she continued to try to catch her breath but keep her eyes fixed on Nightwalker's.
But she was less than a roach to him now. He turned to Collins. "What did you just call me?"
"What is with you all's obsession with hero names, we all went to the same school, remember? And your name is Ian— Ian Anderson."
He placed his hands on his waist, stepped forward, and said, 'I'm so sorry—who the hell are you even supposed to be?'"
