Lucian's POV
The Captive
Freya, standing beside me, hasn’t moved or spoken yet, silently staring at Fenrir with a worried but fiercely angry expression. Her eyes are locked on our two adversaries, who step closer with predatory confidence.
I break the charged silence with a voice that matches the cold, biting wind outside. “Get to the point. What do you want?”
“Ah, yes. Lucian Draven, ever the stoic wolf. How about starting with a ‘hello’ or maybe a ‘how do you do’? You never know it might make people like you more,” Styrbjorn Irk smirks, his voice unexpectedly smooth and deep, a stark contrast to the rough, battle-worn demeanor I anticipated. His ally, Leif Ragnason, remains silent, the shadows dancing over his grim features.
“Get to the point before I tear you both limb from limb,”
