Her eyes moved slightly, and her pupils contracted.
But she quickly raised her head, the lines of her neck were tense, her voice was weak, but she refused to retreat.
"But...but besides this, what else can I do?"
Evan Orwell looked at her slightly trembling eyelashes, each clearly visible.
The night wind blew over the treetops, the leaves rustling.
As the moonlight fell, it cast fragmented shadows on her face.
He was silent for a few breaths, his brows imperceptibly relaxing a bit.
"I can get them out."
Her eyes suddenly brightened, her originally drooping shoulder lifted sharply.
In the darkness, there was suddenly light in her eyes.
But in the blink of an eye, her brows furrowed again, and her tone grew urgent.
"But Albert Wyndham is Blue Rank, and you're only Green Rank... even if you can fly, you can't even touch the hem of his clothes. What do you have to rescue them?"
She knew that the gap between ranks couldn't be bridged with courage.
