Clyde stood in the middle of the wrecked studio, taking in the scene with sharp, measured eyes, trying to understand what had happened there. It wasn't the mess that confused him, but...
His eyes paused on the men on the ground. He recognised one of them. The one who had approached the silver-haired girl on the street. The fake scout who had lured her here.
Clyde narrowed his eyes. If that girl had truly done this alone… a girl who had just reached adulthood, well, that didn't make sense.
Not unless she had military training or came from a household with deep roots in martial arts tradition? Even then, most people were trained for discipline, not destruction. He stepped carefully over a broken lamp and a splintered camera stand, tugging lightly at the string of wooden prayer beads around his left wrist, an unconscious tick he rarely indulged.
