Scarlet
Damien lingered. Not near me. Not near Astrid. But just enough to be noticed.
He moved through the glade like he owned the place, though every witch in the vicinity was clearly restraining the urge to hex him into a squirrel. His eyes kept scanning corners, locked on nothing and everything. Looking for something.
Or someone.
It was like watching a predator in a glass room. All tension. No kill.
And the witches? They felt it.
Their gazes tracked him. Cold. Sharp. Some twitched their fingers as he passed, muttering words that made the wind flinch. I even saw one High Witch subtly raise her hand, then lower it when Astrid shook her head.
So yeah. Damien almost got himself cursed at a funeral.
Classy.
I clenched my jaw and turned back toward the tables, reminding myself for th
