š¦ALTHEA
The words dropped into the hall like stones into still water.
Silence.
But not the shocked kind.
Not the kind that came before understanding.
This was different.
Heavier.
Darker.
And thenā
Laughter.
But not amused.
Angry.
One of the Vargans spat on the ground. "A joke. She daresā"
"Pathetic," another sneered.
"Lying curā"
"She mocks usā"
Even the crone's face shifted, her expression darkening with something that looked like disappointment. Like I'd wasted her time. Wasted everyone's time.
"Silence."
The Hell Hound's voice cut through the noise like a blade.
The hall fell quiet immediately.
He took a step toward me, slow and deliberate, and my breath caught in my throat.
"Prove it," he said, his voice flat and cold.
I blinked, my heart hammering. "What?"
"The silver moths," he continued, his tone sharp. "Create them. Now."
My stomach dropped.
Create them?
Here?
Now?
