Dishonored - 1

Corvo looked at his hands—the hands that had once held Jessamine as she died. The mark of the Outsider pulsed like a second heartbeat.

The Golden Cat was a silk-draped hell of perfumed vapors and captive women. Its patrons were nobles who paid in coin and cruelty. Corvo had learned their names from the Loyalists—Admiral Havelock, the spymaster Pendleton, the inventor Piero. They promised to restore Emily to the throne if Corvo did their bloody work. He didn’t trust them. But he trusted the Lord Regent even less. dishonored 1

Three months ago, he had been the Lord Protector, the Empress’s shadow and sword. He had watched Jessamine die on the floor of her own tower, her blood seeping between his fingers as her daughter, Emily, screamed. Then the usurper Burrows had thrown Corvo into Coldridge Prison, branded him a murderer, and left him to rot. Corvo looked at his hands—the hands that had

He knelt, lifting her onto his hip the way he had when she was small enough to sit on his shoulders during state processions. “We’re going home,” he said. Its patrons were nobles who paid in coin and cruelty

She pulled back, eyes wide. “Can we kill them? The bad men?”