The scrutiny had become unbearable. Every glance thrown in their direction felt like sharp needles pricking her skin, like insects crawling across her arms and down her spine. Circe tried her best to mask her discomfort, forcing herself to sit still and maintain composure, but every so often, she shifted restlessly in her seat. Apparently, she wasn't hiding it as well as she thought, because Ragnar soon turned to look at her, concern flickering across his otherwise unreadable face.
His lips parted, ready to speak, but Circe was faster. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping softly against the floor.
"I need to step outside for a while," she said, her voice calm but clipped.
Ragnar's brows furrowed as he tilted his head to look up at her. "What's wrong?"
