The sword's gleaming edge hovered just a hair's breadth from George's throat. The swing had been swift, deadly precise, and it left no doubt in anyone's mind, if Liam had truly wanted to, he could have ended George's life in that very instant. But he hadn't.
It was strange, unsettling even. As he lowered the blade, Liam had half-expected one of the teachers to step forward, to intercept the strike, to raise a hand and call the match in his favor. Surely someone would declare him the victor. And yet no one moved. No interruption came. Was it possible they all trusted him to have perfect control over his weapon? Or was it something else, perhaps their desperate hope that George still had something left to give, some miracle he could pull from the depths to turn the tide?
But that miracle never came. At least, Liam thought it hadn't. To him, the battle was over, the result obvious.
