As she reloaded her left gun, Frys popped out from around the corner of the darkened root-archway, an arm’s length away from the Tomb Raider. One hand held a small pistol, the other the crystal on its ivory handle.
He fixed his gaze on Lara. “Drop the guns, Croft!” he ordered, staring at her through the lens.
Lara complied. She wanted a better look at the monocle anyway; she’d been curious about it since first learning of its existence. She stared into it, saw a fuzzy version of Frys’s right eye.
Behind her, more shots and screaming. It seemed unimportant now.
Frys stood, legs planted a little wider than his shoulders, one hand clutching the small pistol and the other holding the monocle between himself and Lara.
