Lenavira didn't respond. She was still curled against the cold wall, her body faintly trembling, long hair cascading forward to hide her face. The faint traces of darkness swirling over her skin told him her Dark Elf form still lingered, eating away at her natural aura.
His chest tightened at the sight. He wanted nothing more than to rush forward, shake her awake, carry her out—but reason held him back. The cell's walls weren't stone or steel. They were transparent, polished spiritglass, designed so guards and wardens could watch everything inside with a single glance. Any rash movement would give him away.
'I've already risked too much forcing that guard to open the door,' Max thought, his jaw tensing. 'One wrong step now, and all of this collapses.'
He inhaled slowly, steadying his pulse. No—he had to act with precision, not desperation.
