Sword Intent Beneath the Crimson Sky
Freddy Lavahound's smile turned sharp the moment he noticed Harry Taylor ignoring him.
For a split second, something ugly flickered across his face — a crack in the polished arrogance he wore like a crown.
Instant displeasure flickered across his face.
"What's this?" Freddy drawled, voice dripping with mockery. "Who dares make our Young Master Taylor look so pale? Tell me who it is. I'll help you vent your anger…"
He stepped closer as he spoke, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. The tone was playful, lazy even — but his eyes were sharp, measuring. Hunting.
His tone was playful — but his eyes were probing.
Harry shot him a sideways glance filled with contempt.
"Tsk."
The sound was quiet, but it carried enough disdain to slice.
"Don't act concerned," Harry muttered. "You're enjoying this."
