Nigel groaned the moment he saw the number of elite hunters positioned inside the room.
His sharp eyes swept across their formation, quickly analyzing the threat level. His expression soured.
"Fantastic. You just had to screw this up, didn't you?"
Betty, ever unfazed, twirled her scissors in one hand and gave him a smile far too bright for the situation.
"How is this my fault? I was just about to catch my toy and leave. It's them who got in the way."
She pointed casually at Fenrir.
A shiver ran down Fenrir's spine as her gaze settled on him, and the word toy echoed in his ears like a curse.
Disgust and wariness flickered across his face, but he quickly masked them and focused on the room's layout.
The hunters around him had already shifted into defensive positions, weapons raised and battle skills active.
Their formation was tight, coordinated—clearly trained for high-stakes combat.
Across the room, Betty and Nigel stood side by side.
