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... t time, whistle or something."

He flicked rain from one blade, sheathing it. "Next time, shoot earlier." The faintest ghost of a smirk tugged one corner of his mouth before it vanished.

She allowed herself a breath of laughter—barely a puff, but it eased knots in her ribs. Raëdrithar rumbled approval, sparks dying down.

Draven surveyed the carnage, calculating disposal, salvage, next move. He paused, sensing Sylvanna's eyes. For a heartbeat he met her gaze—storm-blue refl ...

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