Aden turned his gaze back to the Guildsman, his body language shifting from feigned exhaustion to a predatory stillness. The air in the doorway grew thick, the temperature dropping just enough to make the condensation on the man's breastplate freeze into thin, jagged patterns.
"What were we doing?" Aden repeated, his voice low and smooth, like silk sliding over a blade. "We were sleeping. Then we were eating. Now, we are being interrupted."
The leader of the scouts felt a prickle of sweat run down his spine. He was an experienced veteran, a man who had faced Callow-Walkers without flinching, but the man in front of him felt... wrong. It wasn't just the strength; it was the hollow, abyssal depth behind those sapphire eyes. It felt like looking into a well and realizing the bottom was staring back.
