Page 127 of Claimed In Darkness

Not out of mercy.

But because I am waiting.

Waiting for something else.

For them.

For the ones who sent these men, the ones who know what kind of monster I am becoming, the ones who are not just here to retrieve me—but to see what I can do.

And I am not disappointed.

The air shifts.

A new presence.

A slow, methodical step through the trees, boots too quiet against the earth.

He is there.

The old man. The one from before.

The one who let me walk away.

The one who looked at me and did not see a person.

Only a tool.

He steps forward, untouched, unbothered by the bodies bleeding at his feet.

And I know—he was never worried about them.

They did not matter in the greater scheme of things.

This has never been about a fight.

This has always been about a choice.

And this is the moment he forces me to make it.

He does not rush.

Does not lift a blade.

He simply watches me.

Then he says, calmly, coldly, like he is stating a fact rather than making a demand:

"It is time to stop pretending, Naira."

Zephiran reacts before I do.

He spins toward the man, his blade snapping up, his entire body coiled with something I cannot name.

And the old man—he only looks at him once.

A glance.

A flicker of annoyance.

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