"You'll kill me?"
The words hung in the air between them.
Michael had stopped at the door, his hand still on the handle. He didn't turn back.
Altair felt something cold settle in his chest. Not fear. Something else. Something harder.
"Do not threaten me, little brother."
Michael's shoulders tensed. His hand tightened on the door handle so hard the wood creaked.
Then he turned slowly, and Altair saw his face.
Pure rage.
"What did you just call me?" Michael's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Little brother," Altair repeated calmly. "That's what you are, isn't it?"
Michael's summoning seal flared to life on his wrist—brilliant golden light that cast sharp shadows across the library. The air itself seemed to vibrate with barely contained power.
"Or what?" Michael stepped away from the door, his voice rising. "What are you going to do, Altair? You think your little book makes you special? You think it makes you strong enough to challenge me?"
