Liam's jaw clenched slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. His hand didn't tremble. His breathing didn't shift. But his eyes—the stillness in them sharpened, focused entirely on the woman behind Sylvathar. She was the key. If he wanted even the slightest chance to collapse the veil and escape, she had to be disrupted—injured, weakened, or, ideally, taken out.
But that was easier said than done.
Sylvathar, meanwhile, hadn't moved a muscle. He watched both of them with the patience of a god observing ants attempt to escape a sealed jar. The only difference was, this god wasn't angry—just mildly entertained.
"You two are impressive," Sylvathar said with a low chuckle, turning slightly as if admiring the hall itself. "The speed of your reactions. The awareness. Most wouldn't have understood they were trapped until their limbs were severed. But you two… hmm, you're quite something."
