Glimora sensed it first. Her tiny ears flicked as though the air itself shifted, carrying something too heavy, too sharp, to be ignored. The mythical white beast blinked up, squinting those bright blue eyes between Kian and Isabella. Her gaze lingered, narrowed, suspicious.
And then—slowly, deliberately—she slid off Isabella's lap. It was a tiny motion, claws barely scratching against the stone floor as she padded away, but it carried the weight of instinct. Almost like her little mind whispered that whatever was about to happen, she did not want to be in the middle of it.
Isabella noticed, but her eyes… her eyes didn't waver. Still locked on Kian's. Her breath rose and fell, shallow, her chest tightening at the intensity of his stare. She could almost hear her pulse in her ears.
And then—like the absolute menace she was—her lips curled into a smile. A slow, dangerous smile.
"How many babies do you want, Kian?"
The silence cracked.
