Cassian was halfway through his mental escape route. He was ready to turn, walk fast, and pretend to be fascinated by that ornamental pillar over there—when a deep, velvet-slick voice rolled over the hall.
"My friend… you are finally here."
He froze. His back stayed stubbornly turned. Surely that wasn't directed at him. The Third Demon King probably had a hundred "friends" in here—half the room would kill to be addressed that way. No reason to assume it was aimed at him.
Except… the words carried a strange weight, like a hand pressing against his spine.
Cassian's fingers tightened around his goblet. Nope. He was not looking back. If he didn't look, it wasn't him. Perfect plan.
The silence that followed was brief… and then, from behind, came the faintest, almost amused huff.
