🦋ALTHEA
The word negotiate hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Thorne's hand remained over my mouth, his palm smelling of iron and strange ancient woods, muffling the sob that wanted to tear out of me. My eyes locked onto Draven, his face hardened into a feral leer—his expression carved with madness as he held a claw to Yana's throat.
They were so close…
I wanted to curl in on myself and die.
Thal's back bled as he cried for his mother. She could not reach him to offer any comfort.
"There is no need for this," my mother said, taking steps closer, ignoring the encroaching clan, ignoring Draven's outburst. "I want my daughter back, and you can take your people home. Is that not a fair exchange, all things considered?"
"The war criminal wants fairness." Thorne actually chuckled—the sound jarring in its bitter softness.
There was not just something there. There was a lot there.
