Coolness Crisis

"Rocco is not yours," Sylas growled in a low, menacing tone. "There's no way I would leave him with beasts like you."

Rather, it's you who should leave, Sylas's icy glare seemed to say.

His voice was so low and threatening that Rocco instinctively shrank back and furrowed his brows in concern.

For all their earlier bickering, it was clear Sylas and Georgio hadn't come to any sort of truce.

The venom in their glares was real, laced with genuine hostility.

Feeling the tension rise to a dangerous level, as though a fight might break out any moment, Rocco decided he couldn't let this go on any further.

Although his body trembling slightly, he reached out to tug at the hem of Sylas's sleeve.

"Um, big brother? Big brother? May I have a moment of your time?"

The moment Rocco spoke softly, Sylas's head snapped downward at an alarming speed, his piercing gaze locking onto him.