There was deafening silence in Terra's sanctuary... And it was loud.
Every cracked pillar and overturned table was a fresh reminder of how fast Liora had struck. The air still smelled faintly of salt water, ozone, and burnt moss. She had taken Amara before any of them could stop her.
Malachi paced back and forth across the stone floor, his boots clicking with a sharp, angry rhythm. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his cheeks twitched. He kept his hands balled into fists, his knuckles white.
"Pacing a hole into the floor won't bring her back," Des said from the corner. He sat on an overturned stone bench, his whetstone scraping rhythmically against the edge of a short sword. Despite his calm voice, the tension in his shoulders gave him away. Des never sharpened a clean blade unless his mind was racing.
