grabbed

The morning sun hadn't even cut fully through the fog, yet Lor's footsteps were sharp, purposeful, boots echoing along the stone-paved path to the academy.

His coat swayed with every stride, the crisp chill brushing his skin like a polite warning: the day was waiting, full of opportunities to weave his web tighter.

Then—

A sudden hand grabbed his wrist, firm and unyielding.

Another clutched his collar, yanking him with surprising strength.

And before Lor could speak, he was pulled—right off the path and into the narrow shade of an alley, the moss-covered walls closing in like secrets.

He staggered a little, boots scraping against the uneven cobblestones, his shoulder colliding with the damp stone. "What the—?!"

Two figures loomed over him, their cloaks blending into the shadows, but their presences unmistakable.

Viora. And Myra.