AELIA REVA
The smoke still clings to the air, sharp and bitter, stinging the back of my throat. The grass beneath the witch's boots glows faintly, red cracks spiderwebbing out from where she slammed Delroy into nothingness. My heart still hasn't steadied from the sound of his scream.
But he's gone.
The lawn is silent in the wake of it, the kind of silence that feels wrong, stretched too tight, waiting for the next strike. My chest heaves, lungs burning, fire still licking down my arms with nowhere to go. My eyes can't stop darting to Ulric, Elias, Hayden, the witch and always, always back to him.
Wixar.
He hasn't moved. His sword still hangs loose in his hand, black and glinting faintly in the fractured moonlight. He's watching her the witch with an expression that isn't surprise, or anger, or even amusement. It's hunger.
