Amberine froze, entire body tensing. Slowly, she turned to see the man stepping back into view, his figure half in the shadows of the archway. But something was off. His posture was different, his features shifting in subtle ways that defied logic—like melting wax, rearranging itself. She gasped, stumbling a step back, the old tome clutched to her chest.
In an instant, the man's face contorted, the shape of him changing, reforming, until the Archive Keeper was gone—replaced by Draven.
She stared, heart hammering in her throat. Ifrit hissed, flickering with heated alarm. Draven regarded her with a single, cold glance. His usual immaculate attire, the same unreadable expression, the same sharp eyes that seemed to peer into her very soul. She couldn't even form words for a second, caught between shock and a bizarre sense of betrayal. He'd been here the whole time, letting her walk into her own snooping.