The clink of cutlery and the quiet hum of conversation echoed through the dining room, but it did little to distract Vyan from the thoughts swirling inside his head. His food sat mostly untouched, the faint steam curling into the air.
Those eyes—he couldn't get them out of his mind.
It was the kind of gaze that left a mark on your soul even if it never touched your skin. Vyan didn't even know the man, hadn't spoken to him. But something about the way those eyes met his in the crowd had lodged deep in his chest like a splinter. So hate-filled.
He wasn't sure if the man was dangerous in the way a murderer might be—maybe that part was an exaggeration. But harmless? No, not in the slightest.
