The masked man turned away from Fran's trembling form and slowly faced Dila.
His boots scraped across the dirt as he began walking—no, gliding—with a theatrical spin.
He raised his arms slightly, mimicking a twisted ballet dancer, his body swaying with each exaggerated step. His coat fluttered in the wind like a dancer's cape.
"Ohhh," he said with a sing-song tone, smiling beneath his shadowed mask. "Your dear father will be so delighted, Princess. I'll be taking you home now."
His steps were unnerving—light, deliberate, almost joyful.
Dila's body tensed, still kneeling, her injured side burning. Her eyes stared up at him with quiet defiance.
Just then—
"Stop!"
Sarios' hoarse voice rang out from the dirt.
The masked man halted and tilted his head lazily toward the sound.
He grinned.
"What now?"
Sarios forced himself to sit up—his body shaking, blood trailing from his lip. He stared at the masked man with all the strength he had left.
