Chapter 27: Pulse
"You know we can't fight them off, right? They seem quite powerful."
Daylan stretched slightly, nerves creeping in behind his faint smile. "I know. That's why you're here with me. They can't kill me as long as you're around... right?"
They stood about a mile away from their entrance. Without a word, Astara strode forward, and despite trembling in his boat, Daylan casually followed suit.
Four black carriages stood at the mansion's entrance, and twelve men in black waited in silence. One of them exuded dominance, casually leaning against a carriage, a cigar resting between his fingers, flanked by four others like a silent entourage. The rough wind whipped through his hair, ruffling it with careless force.
As Daylan drew closer, fear tightened in his chest. His fingers twitched, and sweat clung to his skin. If Astara's presence wasn't enough to hold their attention, he knew this could very well be the end of him.
The moment their presence was noticed, three of the men began approaching. Their expressions were fierce—one cracked his knuckles while the others drew their weapons.
Daylan raised his hands with an awkward smile, shooting a glance at Astara, silently begging her to say something.
The moment they spotted Astara, the men froze in hesitation. Daylan turned to her with a strained smile, his eyes squinting. "Great job," he muttered. "Now be a darling and tell me when Medora's showing up with the squads." His grin widened, though tension still clung to his voice.
Daylan stood still, hands raised, with Astara by his side as the men slowly approached them.
The Bastian dropped his cigar, his gaze fixed on Daylan. "So, I finally got to meet you... You're the one who killed my nephew, aren't you?"
Daylan remained still, his eyes locked with the Bastian's.