The pewter crystal began to warp, air around it swirled into a slow vortex.
Small blots of darkness tore loose from the ground and the shadows of men, then streamed toward the crystal.
Onlookers should have fled. They did not. They stared, hungry and wary all at once.
Each passing heartbeat left the air a shade cleaner, cooler, as though something foul had been scraped out.
Greed sparked behind eyes that had no business coveting such a treasure. Plans formed without permission.
A man stepped forward, more than two meters of him, built like a moving wall.
His head was caged in a combat helmet that gave away nothing.
Only a few small holes broke the metal, two for the eyes, two for the ears. No mouth. No face.
Just the hard promise of violence shaped into steel.
He did not look at the crystal first. He looked at Fay. His gaze traveled over her like a hand that did not ask.
