A cluster of spears was already leveled at Daphne, their sharp tips gleaming with an unmistakable "one wrong move and you're toast" energy.
Behind her, she could hear Galore cracking his knuckles like he was auditioning for the role of "angry muscle-bound sidekick." He was practically vibrating with excitement for a fight.
But then, Reiner—cool as a fucking cucumber—grabbed Galore's fist mid-motion and gave a subtle shake of his head. It was like a silent "don't ruin this any further, you idiot" warning.
Daphne's brain short-circuited.
'Oh, shit. What have I done?'
Her stomach dropped faster than a drunk on cheap ale. She knew she'd fucked up. Royally. And in this room full of tension, she realized her usual go-to response of punch now, talk never wasn't going to fly.
'Fuck me sideways.'
