Northern frowned darkly as he caught Roma's collapsing frame. He held her for a moment, his grip firm yet uncertain, while the others stood frozen in shock.
Her face was pale—far too pale, as if the very rivers of her blood had run dry.
His gaze sharpened. Chaos Eyes flared to life, dissecting the depths of her being, piercing into the essence of her soul.
It was second nature now—an act as effortless as breathing. A mere glance into the embrace of a soul told him everything: its condition, its burdens, its truths and deceptions. He could discern the tremors of emotion woven into its very fabric—fear, desire, greed, corruption.
Yet at this moment, one detail seized his full attention.
And when he saw it—his eyes widened.
'I was wrong.'
Rita was not the worst off. Roma was.