Layla emerged from the wreckage of the prison with a steady, determined stride, her piercing gaze scanning her surroundings. The chaos she expected to encounter—a flurry of guards scrambling to recapture her—was conspicuously absent. Instead, the courtyard was eerily quiet, save for the occasional groan of an unconscious guard sprawled across the ground.
Her sharp eyes swept over the scene, noting the precision with which the guards had been taken down. There were no signs of needless violence—just swift, incapacitating strikes. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. Raziel and Mary. They've been busy.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the duo appeared from the shadows, their steps confident and purposeful. Raziel's blade was sheathed but still radiated menace, while Mary wore her usual calm yet resolute expression.
"Making quite the statement, aren't you?" Mary teased lightly, her tone laced with approval.