Clara coughed against the slackened grip, air rasping into her lungs, but the vines held her limbs tight. She twisted and spat, voice hoarse. "Don’t… don’t listen to her! Kael, she’ll kill us both!"
The elf ignored her. Her gaze was a blade pressed to Kael’s skin. The vines around Clara constricted again, though not enough to strangle—just enough to remind them all who held control. Her words dripped suspicion, sharp and unyielding. "You bleed. I saw it. But the rot does not spread. My vines tasted you, yet you remain. No man resists my corruption. No flesh rejects it. You should not be standing. You should not be whole."
Kael spread his arms wide, careless. "Yet here I am."
The elf’s lips tightened, her control fraying. Her vines pulsed, some turning black at the edges as if the infect
