The smell of blood begins to build up in Pops’ home. 

Pops towers over the assassin, while I remain seated on the dry ground by the bonfire. The lighting is dim and the atmosphere is humid. This environment is normal for a runaway. 

The assassin-slash-guard provokes me. “Pierre Ray, I assume that you want to question me, or else something bad would happen to me.” 

“What’s your name?” I ask. 

“Tom.” He grits ...