Sharon could feel the intensity in the carriage; the weight of the other passengers' eyes fell on her, and it felt like she was caught in a web of mistrust and hidden intentions. She tried her best to keep a composed face, her hand hovering near her dagger beneath her cloak. Her instincts screamed that something was amiss—something was about to happen, and she was in the center of it. Draven sat across from her, his presence both commanding and distant. He had warned her, "Stop whatever you are doing," and she'd questioned him. She couldn't understand, couldn't see why he was suddenly so concerned.
"Why?" she had asked, her voice laced with suspicion and confusion.
Draven didn't even look up from his book, his cold eyes still scanning the lines of ancient text as he responded, "Because you won't stand a chance against them."
