Even through everything that had just happened, my chest tightened slightly at his tone. He sounded irritated — and strangely enough, that felt safer than open rage ever could.
Silence reigned absolute among the men. Draven let out a quiet, weary‑sounding sigh… then finally turned gaze directly upon me.
"There you are."
I moved instantly toward him — fast as breath — before anyone could dare shift or block way. The moment I reached his side fingers locked tight around sleeve fabric.
"He grabbed my wrist," I complained right away, pointing sharp at the first brute. "And he — pulled hard at my hair."
Dead stillness fell again inside that close room. Draven turned slow, deliberate look toward the man named. The poor fool's face drained instantly grey‑white.
He tilted head fractionally — voice soft and curious:
"He touched your hair?"
I nodded fast. "And my wrist too."
