Clyde woke with a slight jolt. He kept his breathing steady and his body loose, careful not to move too much.
Mina did not turn. She was still seated nearby with her posture sharp, daggers clenched in both hands.
Her eyes tracked the remnants of the group with open hostility, daring anyone to make a mistake.
No one did. The survivors kept their distance with their backs stiff, eyes avoiding her and the bone-white sword resting near Clyde.
After what they had witnessed, intimidation was no longer an act that needed to be done. It was engraved in their instinct.
Clyde slowly lifted his gaze.
The green barrier of the safe zone shimmered faintly above them. Beyond it, the sky remained fractured, vast cracks stretching across the skies like scars that never healed.
The city moved in the distance, grinding and shifting.
His thoughts returned to the dream.
No. He was certain that it was not a dream.
The heat, the pressure, and the way Asmodeus had looked at him.
