The word 'siren' hung in the air, soft but heavy, too ancient and dangerous to be dismissed casually.
Lucas stared at Windstone, disbelief flickering across his face. "A siren," he repeated. "You're saying I… sing people to death?"
Windstone cleared his throat, ever precise. "Not to death, Your Grace. At least…" he hesitated, an uncharacteristic pause, "not yet."
Trevor straightened slowly, crossing his arms. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp with the kind of focus he usually reserved for negotiations. "So the sound isn't the weapon," he said. "It's the lure."
Windstone nodded once. "Precisely. The scent carries a frequency, a resonance that hooks into memory and emotion. The voice strengthens it. Together, they compel the target toward… what they most long for."
Lucas frowned, his brows knitting. "That doesn't make sense. I wasn't even speaking to him."
"That may be why it worked," Trevor murmured.
