The air in the village felt tight enough to snap.
The invading men still stood frozen—muscles trembling, eyes wide, sweat sliding in nervous lines down their temples. Zyran looked like he was hosting a tea party in the middle of a battlefield, humming softly as he examined his nails.
Kian stood a few feet away, half-in the shade, half-in the fading light. His blue eyes were cold, blank, unreadable—like the king of predators deciding who was worth killing first.
Everyone else held their breath.
Everyone except—
"They came looking for Isabella!"
Kian's head snapped toward Ophelia.
Ophelia stood there, tiny, wide-eyed, clutching her hands together like she'd just interrupted a classroom. Her voice was soft but carried across the entire village because Ophelia didn't know how to whisper at the right time.
