"Lady Nessa," Priscilla whispered, her voice low but urgent.
The tension in the clearing was palpable, each faction eyeing the other, waiting to see who would make the first move.
Roof Von Schlieffen stood alone, his mocking grin cutting through the silence like a knife. Yet, for all his audacity, Nessa couldn't act.
Something held her back, and Priscilla's warning confirmed it.
"What is it?" Nessa asked, barely moving her lips.
Priscilla's gaze shifted, directing Nessa's attention to the trees. There, reclining lazily on a branch, was a man in black—an Order supervisor, unmistakable in his all-black uniform, the silver plate glinting around his neck, and a faceless mask covering his features.
The supervisor's presence was both a reminder and a warning. If he was making himself visible, the message was clear: the Order was watching closely, and any breach of conduct would have consequences.
