Ethan stood in the doorway with his shoulder leaning against the frame, and he regarded Drek with an expression that was almost gentle. There was a harmless smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and his face was spattered with crimson droplets that were slowly drying to a rusty brown.
"If you dare to run away," Ethan said, and his voice carried that same calm, conversational tone that a man might use to discuss the weather, "I will find you from any corner of the world. And when I do, your ending will be a hundred times more terrifying than his."
Drek's legs had given out long ago. He was on his knees in the spreading pool of blood that crept across the floorboards, and his hands were pressed flat against the wet surface as though he might steady the spinning world. His head hung down, and his shoulders heaved convulsively as he vomited. The bile spilled from his lips and mixed with the blood beneath him, creating a sickening swirl of yellow and red.
