The four sat cross-legged on the cushion, forming a semi-circle of silent judgment.
Pemah's arms were locked across her chest, one eyebrow raised so high it seemed to recline comfortably on her hairline. Her lips thinned into a weary, unimpressed line—the look of someone who had witnessed more than enough foolishness for ten lifetimes. Every small movement from the pair before her registered as a personal affront.
Adah scanned them from head to toe, slow and deliberate, lips twitching with a restrained "Really?"
Hana sat with her hands folded neatly, her calm gaze fixed on the two. No sigh, no lifted brow—only a soft, composed look that somehow whispered, "Please… not here." Even her slow, thoughtful blink felt like a gentle protest.
Nicoah drummed her fingers lightly, her holy-yet-murderous smile glowing with quiet menace. "Wonderful," the expression seemed to sigh.
