The silence stretched between Lyla and the figures before her, thick as smoke, pressing against her skin. The space around her was not a room, not a ruin, not a battlefield. It was nothing and yet it was alive, pulsing with unseen forces, watching her as she watched them.

The figures did not move.

But they spoke.

Not in words.

Not in sound.

But in something older.

Something that curled inside her ribs like an ancient whisper.

"You do not belong here."

Lyla smirked. "I’ve heard ...