"Aim a red arrow at my heart," Noor challenged, his voice eerily steady. "If you strike me, then you haven't been claimed by senility and frailty. If you miss... I will leave the judgment to you. I promise I won't move an inch. And I assure you, this is the real me, not an optical clone."
A broad, wicked smile spread across Hugo's face. He dipped his brush into the crimson paint, swiftly sketching a razor-sharp arrow in the air.
"With the utmost pleasure," he purred.
Noor glanced at his watch and let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Hugo drew back the painted bowstring, taking aim. But as he focused, Noor seemed to fracture into five shadowy silhouettes before snapping back into a single form.
The General's head swam.
