The stranger's gaze narrowed, sharp and cold, slicing through the room and landing on Sylene like a blade.
"Who is that boy?"
"Not your business," Mavis said stiffly, shielding Sylene behind him with a protective gesture. "I don't know you anymore. Leave, I don't want to see you."
He stepped aside and opened the door—curt and bold, a clear invitation for the noble to get out. Sylene blinked. Mavis had never acted this defiant, not even around Hilda. And everyone was afraid of Hilda.
The man stood tall—taller than either of them—and his presence loomed like a stormcloud. "Try me," he said softly, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. Blue irises burned with raw emotion.
Mavis's ears flattened. His tail curled low.
Those frigid eyes scanned him from head to toe. The white fox looked healthy.
Clean. Intact. He let out a quiet breath, nodding—relieved to see the fox unharmed.
Then the man raised his hand.
