The word hung in the stale air of the pub, heavier than the scent of ale and roasted meat. Messenger.
As soon as Helene spoke it, Klaus's crystalline blue eyes shifted. The warmth vanished, replaced by a depth so cold it resembled the frozen heart of an ancient glacier. The air pressure in the room plummeted. Every patron, every server, and every disguised guard froze mid-motion. Tankards halted halfway to lips. Feet stopped mid-step. It wasn't paralysis born of magic they could recognize; it was the instinctual freeze of prey caught in the gaze of an apex predator. Only Helene remained unaffected, standing upright though her breath hitched in her throat.
A dome of translucent purple energy descended silently, enveloping only Klaus and Helene. Outside the barrier, the world was muted, colors dulling as sound ceased to penetrate the boundary. Inside, the air hummed with latent power.
