"Patience, Prince," she said, lifting her cup to her lips with a grace that seemed at odds with her gnarled, weathered hands. "I am not here to dismantle your house. I am here to see if you are finally ready to inhabit it."
Grayson froze, his blade quivering in the air, the infernal fire along its edge casting long, twitching shadows against the kitchen walls. The distance between him and the table remained an impossible void, a stretch of floor that looked perfectly ordinary yet felt as wide as a canyon. He didn't lower his guard; if anything, his posture tightened, his muscles coiling with the lethal, singular intent of a predator who had found his prey had suddenly turned into an enigma.
The woman's gaze shifted to Mailah, her expression unreadable—neither friend nor foe, but something entirely beyond their comprehension. Her milky eyes, sightless and clouded, seemed to track Mailah's every breath.
