Paula continued.
Her voice rose again, louder now, and the gathered cultists repeated after her with that same eerie uniformity.
Their tones matched perfectly – too perfectly. Like everything else, it felt artificial and forced.
Ronan noticed Maren beside him.
She was not chanting.
She stood frozen, eyes locked on Emma's bound form, her face cycling through guilt, anger, confusion, and fear in rapid succession.
Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to speak, but no sound came.
Then she moved.
Or tried to.
Maren's foot lifted slightly, her body tensing toward the table, but stopped mid-step as if she had hit an invisible wall.
Aura leaned close to Ronan, her whisper barely audible.
"Don't worry about her. She won't be able to do anything. The ritual has already started."
She didn't care for what Maren was feeling, her gaze focused solely on the ritual.
