Dasha stood frozen, speechless. Veythor's whistle drilled into her ears, each note stretching the silence until it became unbearable, pressing against her chest like an unseen hand that would not let go.
The sound scraped against the inside of her skull, sharp as flint, cold as the air of the forest that pressed close around them. Her heartbeat rattled in her throat, her mind clawing for reason in the void.
What in the world just happened?
Her thoughts trembled, spinning. Darius... her Big Brother Darius—had folded before that boy. Folded before a chained child. The thought was a knife pressed to her ribs. A man who had once stood shoulder to shoulder with fire and steel against the Narzanian army, whose arms had been as shields to their people, now crushed under the weight of mere words, a glance, a silence from this child.
How was it even possible? Her reason tried to make sense, but it fractured under the weight of the impossible.
