A chill crept up Evelyn Grant's back.
She trembled and instinctively took two startled steps back.
Preston Keaton seemed to find her small retreat amusing. Here in The Mid-Levels, in Veridia—his domain—she had nowhere to run, yet she was naive enough to think she could escape his grasp.
'But I'm six years older than her. She's just a girl. I should be more tolerant.'
His expression softened slightly, and his tone became much gentler, like that of an adult indulging a child. "Going to Corvin with Sophie Keaton? That does sound like a plan you'd come up with."
Hearing his words, Evelyn felt her blood run cold. The panic of having her plan exposed was written all over her face. The corners of her eyes reddened against her will, making her look frail and pitiful.
"Can't I go?"
Her small, rosy lips opened and closed. She clearly had no cards to play, she was trembling before him like a little quail, and her voice was laced with unconcealed fear.
