The carriage trembled under the external bombardment, its ethereal defenses groaning under the strain. Sharon's gaze shifted to Draven, her suspicions sharpening like the edge of a blade. Despite everything—the chaos outside, the carriage shaking, the palpable danger—he looked utterly indifferent. His demeanor was calm, his cold eyes focused on the book in his hands. The chill in the air seemed to emanate from his very presence. It made her skin crawl.
She couldn't hold her frustration back any longer. Raising her voice, she demanded, "What are you trying to do?" Her tone was laced with suspicion, every word like a challenge.
Draven didn't bother to turn to her. He continued to scan the pages of his book, his expression almost bored. "Are you so foolish that even in this situation, you think I am the one scheming?" His voice cut through the noise, cold and devoid of emotion, like ice cracking in a still winter night.
