The shopkeeper's clawed hand reached toward her, his fingers curling like talons, but Rose's body moved on instinct.
She twisted sharply to the side, dodging his grasp. Her boots scuffed against the rough floor as she put a few feet of space between them.
The shopkeeper let out a low, guttural chuckle, the sound dark and amused. He straightened, his smirk widening into something menacing.
"Feisty, aren't you?" he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "But it won't make a difference. You can't get out of here."
Rose's chest heaved as she forced her temper down, her fingers itching to reach for something—anything—she could use as a weapon.
Her eyes darted between the shopkeeper and his two lackeys, who stood like silent statues behind her, their glowing eyes fixed on her every move.
