No one moved.
The wind whispered through the trees, brushing leaves against one another like hushed voices too afraid to speak. The standoff stretched long and silent, the weight of unspoken accusations pressing heavy on everyone's shoulders.
Aria slowly descended from the canopy, her wings folding behind her back as her boots touched the forest floor. Her eyes swept across the elves, then back to her party. She didn't say a word, but her expression said enough. She was ready if things turned ugly.
The elven leader took a step forward, emerald eyes locked onto Greg and the unconscious figure in his arms. "Hand them over. Now."
Greg shifted his stance, keeping his arms firm around the elf. "They're not some object you can just claim. We pulled them out of a prison camp. They were chained and barely breathing."
"You expect us to believe that?" one of the elves growled from behind the leader. "That outsiders just happened upon one of ours and decided to play savior?"
