Back in Wyfmoor, the compound had gone still.
"And who is this?… Who are you?"
Steel clinked faintly in the hands of guards nearby, but the real weight in the room was the air itself—charged with suspicion, with unspoken questions.
Thalia stood in the center of the corridor, her cloak tattered, dirt on her cheeks, eyes bright with the sting of long-traveled nights.
And beside her, standing too casually for comfort, was a Sebastian with a hunter's build and a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Alaric stepped forward slowly, eyes like storm clouds. His voice was low, but carried the weight of command.
"I'm a hunter," immediately Sebastian said said with ease.
"He helped Heappal and I," Thalia said, her words quick, defensive.
Alaric's gaze turned razor-sharp. He looked between them. "What are you doing here?"
The man—Sebastian, though no one had asked for a name—shrugged with effortless bravado.
"I brought her to you because that was what she wanted."
Thalia blushed.
