The fore-end slid back with a gritty mechanical rasp, ejecting the spent shell. She drove it forward again, chambering the next round. The sound was unmistakable.
She leveled the shotgun at his head, this time.
"If you cannot control your tongue, mister," she said coldly, "then better control your tone. Or your life ends without meaning."
Her voice was calm.
That frightened the onlookers more than the shot.
Soren trembled, fury battling agony. Ether flared weakly around him but dissipated under shock.
Soldiers rushed forward to stabilize him, pressing a cloth against the wound.
"Put the weapon down, Miss!" Varian hissed urgently.
Before Kiara could respond, a voice thundered across the clearing.
"What is happening here?"
It was not shouted.
It did not need to be.
Authority radiated from it like heat from a forge.
The crowd parted instinctively.
Two figures advanced.
