(Third POV)
The late morning sun filtered through the thick branches of the pine forest, casting rays of light on the narrow path ahead. Three horses trotted steadily through the trees.
Damon rode at the front, his eyes fixed ahead. His expression gave away nothing, as they remained unreadable as stone. Beside him, Alaric shifted restlessly in his saddle, clearly not enjoying the silence, or the journey. At the rear, Theo held the reins of his horse tightly, his glasses glinting under the dappled light.
"I still can't believe we're doing this," Alaric muttered under his breath, breaking the quiet. His voice carried more disbelief than anger.
Damon didn't answer. His jaw remained clenched, and his gaze stayed locked on the path.
"You hate the fae," Alaric continued, his tone incredulous. "You've never even stepped near their border, let alone inside. And now suddenly there's something important for you to do there? This…"
