The tension is lethal.
It doesn’t start with a command, or a bold announcement, or even the kind of public aggression courts expect when worlds collide. No, it starts with something quieter—a slow, spreading crack in the ground beneath everyone’s feet. Nobody sees it right away, but once it’s there, it’s impossible to ignore.
You feel it in the air. The ceremony from moments ago twists into something too tight, like everyone’s just waiting for something to snap. Even the torches along the columns seem nervous, throwing anxious shadows that stretch toward the heart of the conflict.
Nyra stands right in the middle. Not a spectator. Not a passive observer. She’s the pivot—the center. Everything threatens to spin out of control, right where she holds ground.
Ryker hasn’t taken his eyes of
