Lyla's eyes lingered on the twisted mess of the security captain sprawled across the floor. His arms and legs bent at grotesque angles, a sight that might have drawn pity from someone softer. For her, the reaction was brief—a quick pang of sympathy, before a faint smirk crept onto her lips. She shifted her gaze to Lars.
This guy really didn't hold back. He followed her instructions to the letter: don't kill them. Still, looking at the captain's condition, it was clear the man would be sipping meals through a straw for the rest of his life.
"Sister Lyla!" Lars stood awkwardly in the doorway, shoulders tight.
Lyla turned and let out a soft laugh. "No need to be so nervous. You're not part of the Silverwood family anymore. Around here, I much prefer the title Boss Lady." Her tone softened, though her eyes stayed sharp. "You being close to Ethan says enough. I trust his judgment."
