The growl behind Isabella deepened, rattling the leaves above her head like thunder crawling across the canopy. The men around her all tensed at once, their bodies dropping into instinctive battle stances, claws half-formed, muscles pulled tight like taut bowstrings.
But Isabella did not flinch.
She did not even blink.
Instead, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
The wind shifted. Her hair lifted. And with a soft flick of her fingers, a delicate pink and white fan materialized in her palm, shimmering faintly as if moonlight were trapped inside its folds.
The men inhaled sharply.
This fan… had not been there a second ago.
Zyran's mouth dropped open. "W-wait… where did—"
Osiris slapped a hand over his mouth. "Shhh! She is transforming! This is when she goes crazy! I told you all! I told you—"
Nobody listened to him.
Because at that very moment, Isabella turned.
