Seamus narrowed his eyes further. The red strings were faint, almost invisible, but they stretched upward, merging with the blood-colored sky.
They anchored to one bird among the swirling murder of crows, the largest of them, with burning red eyes.
"A raven?" he muttered.
The crows froze mid-flight. The figure of the Lady dissolved into a storm of black feathers. Yet the eyes of every crow fixed on him, not as mindless dream-shapes but as if each one carried its own will, watching him with conscious malice.
Isolde's gaze snapped toward him. "What did you do?"
"What do you mean? I just noticed it. That 'Lady' had strings tied to the raven in the midst of crows." His voice carried the same confusion etched across his face.
"Wait… this isn't your doing?" Diane pressed, her eyes darting between them.
Isolde didn't answer, but the tension in her expression said enough. This was beyond her control.
