"Don't look at me like that, bitch," he spat, his face inches from hers. "You think you're better than us? Think you're too good to even answer?"
Still, silence. Ameth's eyes didn't waver, her face a mask of cold indifference.
The fire mage let the flame in his palm grow brighter, the heat licking the air between them, casting flickering shadows across her face.
"We'll burn the clothes right off her," he sneered, stepping closer. "Then see if she keeps that face."
Lor's fists curled tighter,.
He knew a bit about Ameth—knew she'd never beg, never cry, maybe never even fight back unless pushed to the breaking point.
The bald man's hand clenched tighter in Ameth's braid, jerking her head back with a savage tug that made her scalp burn.
Her expression didn't change—not a grimace, not a spark of fear flickering in those icy-blue eyes.
They remained flat and cold as the frozen bark behind her, unblinking, as if the pain was just another sensation to catalog and dismiss.
