"Your time is up. Better run!" The boy cheered as he ran past Cleo. He was right, her time was up, but she did not run. The clock rang out as the minute hand struck twelve. Cleo could run, she supposed, but what would be the point? A life on the run? Yeah right. Plus, she missed her chance. If she wanted to get away she should have done so already. So no, Cleo was going to die here, and she was completely aware of that fact.

Alatus couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. This is what true power was. Not community and respect built on love, but fear. Cold unadulterated fear that fills and darkens every nook and cranny of the soul. Fear that drives men to madness and murder. Men only show their true selves when they have nothing left to lose.

For eyes scream what lips fear to whisper.