Dexter's words hung in the air, suffocating and heavy.
No one spoke.
Because no one wanted to admit that he might be right.
Elijah crossed his arms, his jaw ticking with frustration. "So what are you saying, Dexter? That we should just let Behemoth rise?"
Dexter's expression remained unreadable. "I'm saying we don't know enough. Daemon does."
Trevor scoffed. "Right. And he's just gonna drop all his wisdom into our laps if we ask nicely?"
Dexter's fingers curled slightly, his tone even. "He's giving us clues."
Liam's brow furrowed. "He didn't seem like he was giving us anything."
Dexter turned toward him, crimson eyes steady. "He didn't kill us."
Silence.
It was a fact no one had acknowledged yet.
Daemon could have killed them—easily.
And yet…
He left.
Elena exhaled, her mind racing. "You think he wants us to figure this out on our own."
