The warm breeze of the evening drifted lazily through the narrow alley, weaving its way between Nyxander and the sisters. As if nature itself were holding its breath, a weak, swirling tornado, no stronger than a playful dust devil, spun between them, its gentle whistle slicing through the suffocating silence. The tension was so thick, it seemed even the air dared not move without permission.
Locked in a silent standoff, both sides stared at each other, their gazes sharp enough to draw blood. The eldest of the sisters, her posture firm and commanding, finally broke the silence. "Who are you, and why are you here?" she demanded, her voice tinged with suspicion and annoyance, like a blade laced with venom.