The general's voice trembled—not from fear, but rage:
"You… bastard."
His teeth were clenched so tight that I could almost hear the grind of enamel:
"Stop this already!"
I grinned.
But not because of his words.
But because my legs were still trembling from the shock of the landing.
A sharp pain ran up from my ankles to my knees, and I nearly winced.
Yeah, I definitely should've warped.
For some reason, the idea of dropping in like some dramatic hero had sounded good in my head.
In practice, it nearly shattered my bones.
"Why the hell did I try to look cool?" I muttered under my breath.
Then shake the stiffness from my legs before looking back up at him.
He was still glaring, frost crawling over his shoulders, his breath fogging the air like smoke. I straightened slowly, rolling my shoulders, the faint ache in my knees fading into the background as the adrenaline returned.
"And why," I said, my voice calm but sharp, "would I ever do that?"
