Sixty Six
Zaria’s breath stuttered as the world around her… stopped. For a heartbeat, she thought she had blacked out on her feet. Sound dropped away, the crackle of nearby fires, distant shouts, and the groan of the broken hall. Only her own heartbeat thudded in her ears. Then she realized it wasn’t her mind that had gone still. It was everyone else. The guards gripping her arms were frozen mid-motion; fingers clamped but no longer tightening. A shifter near the shattered archway held his sword half-raised, lip curled mid-snarl, expression stuck there. None of them blinked. Red circled their pupils, thick bands of crimson ringing the black. Her gaze dragged to Gulshan. The Shifter King stood at the front of the ruined hall where Elven Lords had once presided, boots planted on fractured stone.
- Writer
