"Move past the fact that you killed my family?" she seethed, her voice raw and brittle like the edge of shattered glass. Her body was tense, rigid, her hands curling slightly into fists at her sides. Every muscle ached with restrained fury, but Zyren remained still, standing across from her with a mostly neutral expression on his face. His crimson gaze remained locked on her, piercing and unwavering, yet void of any visible reaction.
He didn't speak, but he didn't need to. To Aira, the silence itself was a cruel mockery, louder than any words he could have said. It was clear—painfully, bitterly clear—that he was completely apathetic. Unmoved. Emotionless. As if her pain, her hatred, her entire broken world meant nothing to him.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath she fought to steady. Still trembling, she lashed out again, this time spitting her words with venom.
