Spit hits him clean across the nose, her foot lands on his, and he hops back, cussing under his breath. He runs his sleeve over his face, dark eyes flashing in her direction.

Congratulations, Eponine. You are now at the top of the shit list for a known serial killer who you are about to face in a death match.

Good job.

"Not afraid? Well...." When he drops his arm, his smile is gone.

"Maybe you should be."