The gasp that tore through the tense air did not come from Harned.
It came from Clara.
It was sharp, almost fragile, yet so unexpected in its timing that it seemed to slice through the heavy, suffocating atmosphere. Her eyes were wide—frozen with disbelief—as though the very act of breathing had been stolen from her. For a heartbeat, she looked as though she had been struck into silence, unable even to form words.
But Jared's order still hung in the air, and the man he had commanded didn't dare waste so much as a breath. Without question, he rushed to obey, moving with the kind of urgency born of fear rather than efficiency. His hands worked fast, almost frantic, gathering the dry wood stacked nearby. He struck flint against steel with practiced hands until the first flicker of flame sparked, catching on the bundle.
