The silence stretched. Long. Uncomfortable.
Bai Lian didn't speak. She wasn't sure she could.
Soreia's white, pupilless eyes bore into her eerily, stark against her bruised and bloodied face. Her clothes were barely hanging together—ripped, melted and seared in multiple places. Her shoulder was twisted unnaturally, and her breathing came in hoarse, ragged bursts. Black veins still pulsed faintly under her skin where the inheritance had tried—and failed—to root itself in her.
And yet, her gaze was sharp. Unyielding. Not the look of someone defeated.
Not exactly.
"You're staring," Soreia said finally, her voice low and rough. It was the kind of horseness one would expect after having their throat burned from bile due to throwing up.
"I—sorry," Bai Lian said, immediately straightening. "You just… looked like…"
"Like I crawled out of hell?" A faint smirk tugged at Soreia's cracked lips. "I did."
