Disobey

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I looked around me, assessing the situation. Two Black Hands were down and five magicians. There were supposed to be six.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Instinctively my body turned. Fire, bright and burning was coming at me. My body moved itself, ducking under into a quick drop and roll, putting some distance between myself and my assailant.

It was an older man, his eyes bright green. A magician.

"You," he said, his voice ruff. A scowl grew on his face. "You. Traitor. You betrayed your own people."

I unhooked my gun from my waist, ignoring the crying magic that I suppressed in my veins.

Through grit teeth and the magma in my veins, I ground out, "I have no people."