Isabella ignored him with the devotion of a saint on the brink of smiting someone. She scooped Glimora into her arms—Glimora made a soft, sleepy chirp and snuggled closer to her chest—and without sparing Osiris a glance, she began walking.
Osiris followed.
Of course he followed.
He followed with that annoyingly smooth stride, hands clasped behind his back like a prince surveying peasants. His steps made no noise, his expression was unreadable, and yet somehow he radiated "I think I'm irresistible."
She could feel it behind her, like arrogance had a temperature.
She tried walking faster.
He matched her speed.
She slowed down.
He slowed down.
Finally, she spun around and shouted, "WHY ARE YOU STILL BEHIND ME?!"
He blinked once. Calm. Deadpan. Fully unbothered.
"I'm walking."
"That's not walking. That's orbiting."
He tilted his head. "Orbiting?"
Isabella's patience finally snapped like a dry twig.
