The forest fell silent, as if every creature had drawn a collective breath. The damp, mist-cloaked shadows hung around them like a second skin, clinging to Aira's tunic and hiding the soft gleam of her blade. She winced, one hand pressed to her side, where blood seeped slowly through her fingers. The wraiths had left their mark, tendrils of coldness still lingering on her skin where they'd grazed her, and she forced herself to ignore the throbbing ache.
Beside her, Kellan looked unaffected—of course, he would be. His face was set in that familiar look of disdain, his dark eyes sweeping over her with that perpetual smirk. "Pathetic," he muttered, his voice like cold steel cutting through the air. "Is this the best swordsmanship they taught you in the temples?"
