Draven’s warning lingered like smoke in the air, the crowd around us frozen in silence. Darius’s chest still heaved, his jaw tight as if he were holding himself back by a thread. Daemon’s smirk only deepened, wicked and unrepentant, feeding off the chaos.
And then Draven moved.
Without another word, he reached past Darius and took my wrist, firm. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was final, absolute.
“She’s done here,” Draven said, his voice low but carrying enough command that the other warriors lowered their gazes immediately.
“Don’t you dare—” Darius started, his voice cracking like a growl.
“Stand down, brother.” Draven’s tone cut through him, a blade in the dark. For a moment, their eyes locked, Darius’s blazing fury against Draven’s cold authority. It was a
