“I’d actually rather not have to kill you,” Sam said. “But if your hand so much as twitches . . .”

Caine let his hands hang in the air, carefully aimed just a bit off target.

He looked at Sam’s face. His brother’s eyes were focused narrowly on his own. Smart boy. Sam had gained experience since the old days when they were an even match. An inexperienced fighter watches the opponent’s hands; a smart fighter watches the other guy’s face.

Caine had to carefully control his eyes, not shift, not look toward—

Sam’s right hand was still aimed directly on Caine’s body. But from his left came the air-sizzling green light. It burned in a flash through the leg of Caine’s chair.

The chair tipped; Caine slipped, landed on his side, rolled fast, and as Sam rushed him pulled one of his newer tricks: he blasted the concrete directly below himself, throwing his own body back with the recoil.

Light, Chapter 5