She watched his gaze shift—dangerously—to the side. His posture changed as he moved slowly and threw himself onto the bed like her refusal had barely scratched him.
His legs spread, his hands interlocked loosely between them. He tilted his head, long black hair shifting as it fell to one side of his face. He stared at her.
He didn't say a word.
But he didn't have to.
His displeasure was palpable.
It rolled off him like a storm, thick and cold, and Aria felt it pressing down on her even before he spoke.
"Would you like to see the monster again?" he asked.
The room stilled.
"Up close this time around?"
Her breath caught in her chest.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
It was clear her answer didn't matter.
"…Something is clearly brewing," Zyren continued, his voice dark and deliberate. "And I have no intention of going in blind and weak."
Each word was laced with cold intensity.
And then came the final blow—sharp, cruel, and unmoved.
