Damien stood in the corner of the room, arms folded, gaze fixed on the two figures still unconscious on the floor.
They had been restrained—wrists bound, ankles tied, subtle runic bindings humming faintly over their skin from a binding item Damien had activated on them. The room was dim, lit only by a low-burning lantern threatened to be devoured by the silence in the room.
He'd given them a few hours to wake. Long enough for them to stew, to think. Or panic.
Now, it was time.
But not with Arielle here.
She stood by the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable. She hadn't said much since they'd dragged the two in—former allies? Ghosts of her past? Damien hadn't pressed. Yet.
He tilted his head toward the door. "You should step out."
Arielle raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"I don't want you here when this starts."
"They're connected to me and they might as well be here for me. I should be—"
"They are connected to you. That's exactly why you shouldn't be here."
He held her gaze.
