Slowly, Ricky's perception began to blur and narrow. Everything that didn't matter—the participants, the pulsating stone pillars, the grand hall soaked in the remnants of ancient power, even Noctyss sitting quietly in meditation—faded into irrelevance.
The only thing that remained in his sight, burning like a beacon, was the Guardian Spirit.
The one who could send him out.
His gaze bore into her with such fierce desperation that it pulled the Guardian Spirit from her musings. Her brow furrowed, her cold eyes narrowing slightly as she turned toward him.
Though Ricky had impressed her greatly with his earlier performance—unreasonably so, in fact—that didn't grant him the right to stare at her like this. Like a drowning man clutching for air.
Her eyes, like shards of polished crystal, glinted with chilly disapproval. Still, she refrained from snapping at him outright. His accomplishments earned him a sliver of patience.
