The entire room held its breath. Fear was a smog that thickened the air and rushed into my lungs like fumes of bleach. It stung and burned, nearly making me emit a nasty cough.

You could feel the tearing and shattering of alliances, opinions being formed and beliefs being questioned.

It wasn't every day the High Table took in a potential soul-eater. Some instinctual side of me told me to use my gift, to tear the life from Marcus before he could utter another order.

Marcus's eyes held mine, ice blue and full of acknowledgement. There was something strange in his perfectly cultivated emotions, a sort of interest that bordered on gambling.

The pieces clicked together in my mind, when ever so slightly, he tipped his head at me.

'Your move', It said.

A question stood out in my mind, one that made my stomach sink. None of us had thought of it before, least of all myself.

That guard I had killed at the decrepit house; we had left him there.