There was a pause. Too long. Too deliberate.
"No," came Unnur's reply, soft and steady. Too steady.
Emilio's brow furrowed. That wasn't like her. Not in a moment like this. She should have been at his side — shielding, healing, weaving light between them like she always had. But she remained behind him, unmoving.
His muscles screamed in protest as he shifted slightly, eyes never leaving the serpent as it circled, coiled, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Then help me!" he barked, panting. "I can't hold it off much longer."
Another pause.
"I am helping," she said.
But it wasn't her voice. Not quite. It had her cadence, her softness, her shape — but something echoed beneath it. Something hollow, like words spoken from the bottom of a well.
His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. Sweat mingled with blood across his brow. The beast hissed, the sound laced with a rhythm — like breath drawn from a dream.
Something is wrong.
He dared a glance over his shoulder.
