Amberine followed Draven out of his room, her heart pounding, the air thick with tension. The hallway was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of enchanted sconces casting faint light across the stone walls. She could feel the anxiety crawling under her skin, like a thousand tiny needles. She had never seen Draven this way—so focused, so guarded. His expression remained stoic, but his eyes darted around, as if he were calculating every possible move, every potential threat.
Ifrit slipped out of her robe, his tiny salamander-like form glowing softly. He perched on her shoulder, his eyes flitting nervously from side to side. "Amberine, stay close to him," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The seriousness in his tone sent a chill down her spine.
