Draven took another slow, deliberate step into the cramped sewing room, the heavy click of his boots against the floorboards echoing through the silence. His jet-black hair fell slightly over his eyes, casting a shadow that made his sharp features look incredibly severe.
"I asked a question," Draven murmured, his baritone smooth, flat, and entirely devoid of warmth. His mismatched eyes—one stormy silver, the other glowing with that unsettling, faint green light—remained fixed on the tightly folded paper in Lily's hand.
Lily looked as if she might faint on the spot. Her fingers shook so violently that the parchment slipped from her grasp, fluttering down onto the wooden tabletop with a soft, definitive snap.
I stepped forward immediately, putting myself directly between Draven's towering frame and the terrified maid. I reached out, my fingers curling around the parchment before he could step closer.
