Draven's cold eyes remained fixed on Annalise as the battle raged around them. His movements were fluid, precise, the product of relentless training and strategic refinement. He had faced countless foes—many stronger, faster, more cunning. But Annalise and her comrades were proving a different kind of challenge, not because of their power, but because of their sheer recklessness.
Annalise frowned, sweat beading on her forehead as she circled Draven, her icy aura swirling around her like a storm waiting to break. There was something about him that unsettled her. The axe wielder, standing beside her, seemed to sense it too. He turned his head toward Annalise and called out, "Lady Annalise… this guy—there's something off about him."
"I know," she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
