Byerly is not a man who was born with an excess of courage on his own. But courage is found with comrades. If there was a tremble in his hand before, it disappears as Cedric speaks, replaced by a sort of tranquility.

“Yes. I can.”

He meets Cedric’s eyes. He nods. And then he kicks down the door of his old home. And there they are: a circle of three Venatori, weaving threads of blood magic that plunge into the wooden floor and run through it like veins, pumping poison into the foundations of the home.

There isn’t any cry of rage or triumph. Even though Byerly has found the source of the wickedness that has corrupted so much around him, he does not give voice to any catharsis. Instead, he moves quickly to draw his knife quickly and efficiently across the throat of the first masked figure.