"Not bad," he admitted, voice grudgingly respectful, "for a reckless outsider."
Mikhailis wiped sweat from his brow, forcing a grin. "If we're trading compliments, you're quite the show-off yourself." Inside, fear gnawed at him. He couldn't keep this up forever. A direct confrontation with an equal or stronger manipulator of the mist was suicide, especially with the brand's draining effect hovering like a vulture.
Mikhailis swallowed, eyes flicking across the broken terrain. He might only have one shot to end this. The memory of that devastating swap technique lingered—he'd done it before, tangling the Enforcer. Could he replicate it effectively again?
