Caelan was silent for a few seconds, as if Garrick's words weighed heavily on his mind. Finally, he murmured,
"If this is her holding back... I don't even want to imagine when she decides to let go."
The veteran gave him a sidelong glance, cold as the road.
"Then don't imagine. Just pray the demon doesn't push her there."
Caelan swallowed, straightening in his seat, trying to appear firmer than he actually was. But the chill gnawing at his bones didn't come from the dawn—it came from the certainty that inside that carriage there was no room for two predators.
Inside, the silence was an invisible battlefield.
Ester kept her gaze fixed on the darkness of the window, but she could no longer see the trees or the dead fields. The fragile reflection in the glass showed only her own image—rigid, controlled—and just behind, like an inevitable shadow, Damon's face.
He still smiled. He always smiled. The corner of his mouth curled in a promise of torment.
