Matheus stared at the point of the bolt primed and waiting in Milo’s crossbow. Behind him, he heard Alistair utter a low curse, while Joan gave an impressed whistle.
“That is a sweet crossbow,” she said, nudging Matheus in the back.
“Oh, lord.” Alistair said. “Shut up, Joan.”
“What? It is.”
Milo raised an eyebrow.
Matheus gave a shrug. He offered a half-hearted wave before realizing that moving might not be the best idea. He wondered how good of a marksmen Milo was. The bow didn’t waver. If Milo took down Matheus, he’d need time to reload. Matheus glanced over his shoulder at Joan and Alistair. Something told him to put his money on Milo.
“Uh, hello, Milo,” said Matheus. “How have you been? Doing well?”
“Moderately,” said Milo. His gaze flicked to Alistair. “I see you survived.”
“You too,” said Alistair, with a slight nod.