Kian stood over Isabella, eyes narrowing as his hands hovered above her. His usual coldness had melted into raw focus, energy swirling between his fingers. The room was thick with tension—every breath a heavy weight. He muttered under his breath, eyes scanning Isabella's trembling form, desperate for answers.
Ophelia, Shelia, and Luca were pressed into the corner, watching like coiled springs, unable to look away. Shelia bit her lip, eyes darting from Kian to Isabella. Ophelia's fingers gripped her hands so tight, her knuckles were white. Luca was on edge, his composure cracking as he leaned forward, almost on the verge of saying something.
The minutes dragged, unbearable. Kian's brow furrowed deeper as magic flared around Isabella like a storm. No poison. No curse. Nothing.
"What in the world is going on?" Kian muttered, frustration thick in his voice. He turned to the others, voice hard. "There's no magic. No poison. Nothing."
