The air inside the tent was heavy, as though the canvas itself had absorbed the panic and the smell of blood. Seraphine sat pressed against the stake, gasping for breath, her fingers still clawing at the fabric as if it were her only escape route. Her eyes darted wildly, frantically between us, and each time they lingered on me the longest — filled with the fear I myself had planted there.
Cassian slowly crouched in front of her, slightly to the side so he wouldn’t loom over her but could still see her face. His hands were held out, palms up, a calming gesture as though to say: there is no threat here, no force.
“ Sera… calm down. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you,” he said quietly, but every word landed with weight, like stakes driven into the ground to keep the girl steady. “Bre
