Damage B1C3

Before we left the ruined house, a tiny glint of light caught my eye. The Beowolf had already started to dissolve, but as the flesh peeled away into ash it revealed a hint of metal. As the other three limped their way out of the house I knelt down to look at it, drawing out the small, grey blade. The handle was metal, nothing more than the tang elongated out, and the centre of balance was in the middle. I knew what it was mostly because of the distinctive way it had been forged.

A throwing knife, buried into the back of the Grimm. But who had thrown it?

A single strand of straw drifted past my eye. Following from whence it had come I looked up, flinching slightly as I found myself staring into a pair of golden eyes. Balanced on the edge of the roof, looking down at me from above the dark grey cloth mask. The woman from earlier crouched silently out of reach.

She seemed as surprised as I did, though perhaps that was surprise I'd even noticed her.