When Ghent pulled the door open, a shadow pooling innocently beneath one of the shelves near the floor close to the exit stretched out in a wispy strand, as if ready to follow. It shot back into place when the boy turned back around, its unusual actions going unnoticed by the duelers. 
	The moment their swords collided, Drust slid his from Elayra’s and swung it with speed and accuracy rivaling even the greatest ninja, the hilt now grasped in both hands. 
	Elayra leapt away, trying to keep Drust’s attention from shifting to Ghent, the tip of his sword slicing at the fabric of her dress at her stomach. The end of his swing collided with one of the shelves, shattering packages of tube light bulbs and sending splinters of cardboard and glass clinking to the floor.
	[b][i]“Wait![/i][/b]
	Drust’s head twitched toward Ghent.
	[i]“Get. Out![/i]” Elayra hissed, sparing Ghent scarcely a glance as he rebuked Drust for the role he now played.
	Drust, katana already drawn back for his next swing, hesitated, his head twitching consecutively and bearing a toothy snarl, the constant battle between man and magic warring anew.
	For a precious moment, Elayra thought Ghent may have helped snap Drust out of it, or at least come close to it. But then, Ghent opened his mouth again, taunting him.
	“You [i]idiot![/i]” she groaned as Drust’s attention turned to Ghent, something between a malicious grin and lopsided smirk twisting his face.
	“And I was worried you were just a spineless oaf,” he jeered with a gravely undertone. “If it’s a fight you want, little oaf,” Elayra’s grip tightened on her weapons when Drust raised his Katana, sliding a foot to the side in preparation to stop Drust from using it on Ghent, but instead, he sheathed it, “who am I to decline?”
	Fearful of how far he would go in a battle with Ghent, Elayra hastily tried to take advantage of Ghent’s distraction. 
	She jumped toward Drust, her sword aiming at his calf.
	Drust growled and shifted out of the way, turning in a kick, but her blade hit its mark, creating a gash in his trousers before his foot collided with her stomach. 
	She bent double and stumbled back with its force. Her foot collided with the edge of her box-seat, and she fell to the floor, landing painfully on her side. Her sword clattered to the ground and skid into one of the shelves as she frantically tried to gasp in a breath.
	Apparently satisfied she would be down at least long enough to deal with the other teenager in the room, Drust turned back to Ghent. “Let’s find out if you deserve to be called Hatter’s son, shall we?” he purred nastily, his neck cracking in yet another violent twitch.