As Lancelot stepped into the headquarters, his stride steady despite the gash that marred his chest, an arm suddenly hooked across his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, displeasure cutting across his face as he turned to meet the culprit.
Rachel, still carrying Leon's limp body on her back, blinked in surprise. 'I didn't even notice him,' she thought, unsettled by the man's sudden appearance.
"Lance," the man drawled, a lopsided grin plastered across his face, "trying out a new look? Word of advice, scars across the chest went out of fashion a year ago." He threw his head back, laughing at his own joke.
Rachel's lips parted slightly. 'What a weird man.'
Lancelot's hand gripped the arm on his shoulder, shoving it away as his gaze hardened.
"Samuel," he said flatly, his aura flickering around him like the edge of a blade. "Don't put your hand on my shoulder again. I won't warn you next time."
