'I have a bad feeling about this.'
Eli's chest tightened as Caelen's smirk lingered, golden cracks pulsing faintly across his battered skin like veins of molten fire.
His Danger Detection didn't flare—but instinct clawed at him anyway, screaming danger. Not from the priest. Not from the dungeon.
From Caelen.
From the way those golden eyes cut into him, sharp and assured, almost smug. It wasn't a threat in the literal sense—it was personal. The kind of gut-deep knowing that told him someone was about to drag him into a plan that would make him regret breathing.
Caelen finally spoke, voice low and gravel-thick, but with that dangerous lilt of playfulness.
"The only way I'll get a clean opening to squash this 'roach'…" He tilted his head, never breaking eye contact. "…is bait. A distraction."
Eli's stomach dropped as that gaze anchored on him.
'My bad feelings were correct.'
