The sound was violent in the quiet — wood slamming against stone, the crash echoing through the ceremonial hall with deliberate wrongness rather than accident.
A woman in red walked in.
Nyla Carmine.
She wore red like a declaration — a gown moving with her, deep crimson catching every eye in the hall and holding them. Her pink hair was loose, her posture confident, and her expression belonged to someone who had arrived at exactly the right moment and knew it.
The hall went silent.
Wish looked at her four mates.
Dusk's face was carefully neutral, but his eyes tracked Nyla with focused threat recognition. Aurex's warmth had pulled inward, condensed, ready. Hyrin's posture had shifted infinitesimally — not visible to most people but visible to Wish, readiness preceding movement. Dew was still, water-still, the kind sitting right before current.
They were worried.
They were trying to hide it.
