"Well, I never said I'm going to kill him... you simply assumed that yourself," Veythor replied, his voice smooth as oil as he turned his head to regard Shimi. She stood with her hands clenched so tight her knuckles whitened; her voice trembled when it finally broke out.
"Then why did you cover him in oil?" she demanded, each word a thin thread of accusation pulled taut.
Raika's gaze sharpened at the question. Veythor snorted soft... a sound that slid into a whisper meant for no one but them. "He's nothing but a distraction for the tribesfolk. When the fire ignites, everyone will melt into panic as their resources are destroyed. Tell me, what do you think they'll do when they see one of their own slicked in oil? Chaos will follow. Confusion and fear. That is the point."
Listening, Shimi's furrowed face softened a fraction— the idea of a distracted crowd somehow easing the edge of her alarm. But Raika's eyes only narrowed further, fixed and accusatory.
