The air felt like it had shifted, colder and heavier as I stood frozen in the corridor, watching my father's face shift into something unreadable. He hadn't said anything for what felt like minutes, but the silence between us was deafening. Then it happened—a low laugh rolled out of him, quiet yet sharp, a sound that seemed to echo in the empty hallway.
It wasn't the kind of laugh that warmed you or made you feel at ease. No, this was the kind that sent chills skittering down your spine, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. My stomach twisted in an instant knot, and I forced myself to keep my expression blank.
"Chlorendia," he said finally, his tone smooth but carrying a weight that made my chest tighten. His eyes, dark and piercing, stayed locked on me as he took a step closer. "The stable worker?"
