The clearing fell silent. All that remained was the faint, sharp crackle of ice mana clinging to the air.
Freya stood at the edge of the tree, one hand extended toward Aura. Mana, colder and more violent than anything Ronan had seen her use before, swirled around her arm. Her angelic warmth had vanished, replaced by a glacial fury focused entirely on the unconscious girl lying on the grass behind Aura.
Ronan watched her, his own expression unreadable.
Freya Lockhart is not a particularly good person, he thought. But even she's capable of this much. She was vain, ruthlessly competitive, and manipulative when she felt cornered. She hid behind the image of the Academy's angel because that image served her ambitions.
But she was a good sister.
The proof was standing directly in front of him. She had arrived almost instantly. She had opened with a spell meant to kill towards Aura. Not for revenge. For protection. That much, at least, was genuine.
