Ezinne bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment of Nwadiebube's order, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer. The tension in his posture, the subtle tremor in his clenched fist—it all spoke volumes. She knew Nwadiebube well enough to recognize the weight of his unease, even if he refused to voice it.
"Very well," she said softly, turning away to leave the courtyard. The branch in her hand pulsed faintly, as if resonating with her own concern. She would contact the Merchant of Death again, though she doubted even the strongest bodies could quell the storm brewing within Nwadiebube's soul.
