Clayton stood frozen. The person tailing him was someone he once thought decent—someone he never imagined would do such a thing.
It was none other than Arowmfa—the man who had previously acted polite and friendly, even offering Clayton advice. In that moment, Clayton realized: you really can't judge a book by its cover. He reminded himself to be more careful next time—not to fall for a kind face hiding darker motives.
Clayton raised his hand more deliberately now, his fingers shaped like a gun, ready to strike at the slightest move.
Arowmfa, confronted by the sight, was visibly shaken. Goosebumps rose across his skin, and his scalp tingled.
He had never expected that someone like Clayton—who looked like a harmless, lowly farmer—could exude such terrifying pressure.
"Brother, I think there's been a misunderstanding..." Arowmfa said, forcing a smile despite his pale complexion.
Clayton narrowed his eyes. "Cut the act. Tell me what you're really after."
