Jake's solemn question still echoed through the stands, reverberating like a war drum across the silent faces of his companions. His voice, calm but edged with a seriousness he rarely showed, betrayed just a flicker of unease—a faint shadow in otherwise steady eyes.
He wasn't trying to belittle them.
If anything, his restraint made the worry that slipped through all the more piercing. He scanned the faces of his companions—not with contempt, but with a hidden fear that, despite everything, he might not always be able to shield them from what was coming.
This almost imperceptible uncertainty struck a nerve. For the Myrmidian warriors, proud and unyielding, and for Will and Asfrid—those used to navigating with words and intuition—Jake's understated doubt was like a subtle splinter under the skin. It didn't hurt because it was loud or dramatic, but precisely because it was so rare, so out of character for the one who'd always carried the world on his shoulders.
