If you leave, you die!

The rest finally made it up and dropped to their knees, drained—hands and knees raw and numb from the climb.

Cyra gave them a moment to recover. Then, rising to her feet, she tossed the chair into her space and pulled out two torches, ignoring their stunned stares.

She saw no point hiding her space. Better to shock them now—she'd be using it often in the desolate land.

“Get up, we’re leaving the forest. Leave my sight, and you die—no matter what you see, stay behind me.” Cyra’s tone was filled with serious warning.

As darkness fell, Cyra’s aura changed—sharp, predatory, and suffocating.

The women instinctively reached for their weapons, fear tightening their grips and darkening their expressions.

Whatever fear they’d felt on the plane was nothing compared to this. Under her gaze, they were nothing but prey.

Their backs were drenched in cold sweat, feeling her changed to gold right before their eyes.