Bella stood a short distance away, motionless.
She was face to face with Ross.
Ross was crouched near a flat stone, his movements unhurried as he sharpened his knives.
The steady sound of scraping metal against whetstone cut through the silence, rhythmic and unsettling.
Tiny sparks flickered now and then, briefly illuminating the lower edge of his cloak.
Sebastian slowed his steps.
Even now—especially now—Ross hadn't removed his cloak.
The hood hung low over his face, concealing his features entirely. It was strange.
The night wasn't cold. If anything, it was thick and suffocating, yet Ross remained wrapped in layers as if the world itself couldn't be allowed to touch him.
Bella stood directly in front of him, far too close.
She didn't speak. Neither did Ross.
Sebastian felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
The scene felt wrong, like he had walked into the middle of something he wasn't meant to see.
