It was in the cusp of winter that had Valene Connors staring impassively at the bloody form of Ascot Hunter, unyielding. He met her gaze, head-on with a purpose, but with the subtle slacking of his shoulders, Valene could see his resolve failing. He pursed his lips in a scowl. Fine, he spat, holding out a red hand in resignation. Valene smiled serenely and handed over her prize. Pleasure doing business with you, she hummed. Continue reading MOS Ch 1.

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