The world stood still in a void of swirling frost and darkness. Ein blinked, trying to make sense of the silence that followed the explosion of wind. For a moment, everything felt surreal, as though time had stopped.
Slowly, the fog began to clear, and the storm's fury ebbed. Shadows grew in the thinning mist, revealing a shape crumpled on the frost-covered ground—Victor Hale.
A sinking dread curled in Ein's stomach.
Dean stood over Hale, the bloodstained knife still gripped in his hand, his expression twisted in a ruthless frown. The blade had found its mark.
"No..." Ein muttered under his breath, watching as blood seeped from Hale's abdomen, soaking into the earth beneath him.
The cult leader's eyes fluttered, his breaths shallow, his lips moving in what could be a final prayer. It sounded odd, as if he were making an appeal to someone.
The guards released Ein. Everyone's gazes were frozen on the culmination of the chaos.
