Lethe folded his arms. “You will? Really? I don’t know. Razzia, what do you think? He look like a killer to you?”

Razzia jumped up and down. “Ooh, I hope so! Do it! Do it, kid! It’s only Nero! If he carks it, we can grow another one!”

Lethe looked at her. “Actually, we can’t.”

Razzia stopped jumping. “We didn’t grow him in a tube? Strewth, I thought he was one of those genetic experiments I keep hearing about. With the hair and all.” She shrugged. “Kill him anyway, kid. Cut his throat and join the club.”

“Hey,” Nero said loudly. “Hey! Come on! Let’s not antagonise the kid, all right? Let’s all be cool here.”

“Of course,” Lethe said, sauntering forward. “You’re right, Nero. Of course you are. Let’s be cool.”

“Stop walking,” said Omen.

Lethe ignored him. “We’ll all be cool. Nobody has to hurt anybody. Let’s just shake hands and part as friends, what do you say?”

Temper groaned, and rolled on to all fours. “He takes another step, you start cutting, you hear me?”

“The boy’s not going to cut,” said Lethe. “He’s not a killer. He’s not a murderer.”

“I’m scared and I’m trapped and you’re gonna kill me,” Omen countered. “I will do whatever I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Nero said quickly, “because Lethe is going to stop walking right goddamn now. Aren’t you, Lethe? Lethe?”

Lethe’s saunter, as calm and unhurried as any saunter Omen had ever seen, came to a slow and reluctant stop. He sighed. “Fine. Look at me. Look at how still I’m standing.”

“Temper, come over here,” Omen said. He was sweating. Perspiration ran down his face, down the back of his collar. He could feel how damp his armpits were. The knife. The knife was slippery; he wasn’t sure that it’d stay in his hand if he had to stab, but he dared not adjust his grip.

Temper got up and limped over. It was like he was being slow on purpose. Omen had to bite back harsh words. He could feel the panic beneath his skin. It jittered and bubbled and boiled.

Finally – finally – Temper was crouching beside him, one hand on Omen’s shoulder, one hand on Nero’s arm. “All right then,” he said, taking control of the situation, “Nero here is going to teleport us back to Roarhaven. You hear that, Nero? Right into the middle of Meritorious Square. If you try something stupid, like dumping us off the edge of a volcano, Omen here will kill you as his final act, won’t you, Omen?”

“Yes, I will,” Omen said, trembling so badly that the blade nicked Nero’s skin. If the shakes got any worse, the knife was liable to fly out of his hand before he got a chance to use it.