The threat

Sinclair's sharp, penetrating gaze seemed to bore into Layla's very soul, the atmosphere crackling with tension as an ominous laugh erupted from Layla's lips, reverberating off the cold stone walls of the dimly lit chamber.

The low light danced across Layla's face, casting shadows that accentuated her clenched teeth and the wild strands of her disheveled hair, her eyes flickering dangerously between a fiery crimson and their usual hue—a clear indication of her simmering rage. She was seething inside, but the weight of an unspeakable secret kept her from unleashing her wrath on Sinclair.

With purposeful steps, Sinclair approached Layla, her hands gripping the woman's shoulders tightly as if grounding herself amidst the storm. Layla met her gaze with a raised eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth, her amusement evident. It was a taunting challenge—an unspoken dare that Sinclair tread carefully.