Ilyana immediately stiffened at the sound of that voice.
The sharp, familiar blade of fury in it sank straight into her bones—so unmistakably Isolde. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned, already knowing what she'd see. And there she was.
Her twin. Her mirror. Her lifelong shadow.
Isolde stood just beyond the clearing, dark hair braided tightly like a no-nonsense crown, (her hair did not seem so bad after the early morning fire), her lips curled into a sneer, her eyes—those same storm-grey eyes they shared—burning with outrage.
But her anger wasn't just directed at Ilyana.
It was aimed, like a spear, straight at Cyrus.
"I said it," Isolde hissed, her voice rising with each syllable. "I knew it. I can't believe you're actually trying to pursue a monster like him."
