The brilliant blue glow reflected in Damon's eyes as the group stood frozen, their gazes locked onto the figure ahead.
Spectre felt a chill run down his spine— from the suffocating pressure. His body burned with heat despite the frozen air. Saliva welled in his throat; he struggled to swallow. Slowly, cautiously, he glanced to his right, not daring to take his eyes off the figure before them for more than a second.
Even Maley and Bailey—usually so cheerful—had their expressions drained of light.
"What is that thing…"
Oren's voice slipped out in a whisper, barely carried by the wind—just enough for the others to hear.
"Keep your heads straight, you jerks," Damon snapped, her voice low but firm. "Don't let that thing terrify you."
Eva's eyes narrowed, focused like a hawk locking onto its prey.
Damon didn't speak. His eyes were fixed on the figure sitting ahead—cold, unbothered, and overwhelming.
