The wind carried a chill that hadn't been there earlier. Taryn gripped the ship's railing, her gaze fixed on the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. The air felt heavy, charged, and wrong—like the world was holding its breath before a scream. Beneath her fingertips, the wood creaked softly, a whisper of the storm's first warning.
"You feel it, don't you?" a voice drawled behind her.
She didn't need to look to know it was Kah'el. His tone always carried that faint lilt of mockery, as though everything amused him, even the threat of death.
"Feel what?" she asked without turning, keeping her voice cool and detached.
"The tension. The storm," Kah'el said, stepping closer. He leaned against the railing beside her, his coat billowing slightly in the rising wind. "Or maybe you're just brooding. You've got that look."
Taryn's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not brooding."
Kah'el smirked. "Sure you're not."
