The carriage ride back from the auction was suffocatingly quiet. The rhythmic clatter of the mana-bred stallions' hooves on the cobblestone streets of the capital was the only sound, a stark, lonely counterpoint to the chaotic symphony of my own thoughts.
Layla sat across from me, her legs crossed, her arms folded, a perfect, regal statue of icy composure. Her gaze, however, flickered occasionally toward the small, silent figure nestled beside me.
Yumi.
Her tiny hands clutched the hem of my new, expensive overcoat like it was a lifeline, her knuckles white. She hadn't said a single word since we left the cavernous, corrupt underground chamber. Not a sound. Not a cry. Just a profound, unnerving silence. Her soft, snow-white curls bounced gently with the carriage's motion, and her big, rose-pink eyes would peek up at me now and then, wide with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher—not fear, but a deep, cautious uncertainty.
