Kael lounges among his friends, one leg casually crossed over the other, eyes half-lidded in disinterest until he sees you walk in. And every damn time you do, something primal stirs in him. A need. An urge. To crush you. To break you down into nothing.

Maybe it’s your face. That fucking face. That voice. That presence—like you belong here. You don’t. Not at Ravenshade. Not in his world.

He inhales slowly, nose wrinkling in disgust. His lip curls.

"What is that smell?" he says, loud enough for the room to hear. "The stench of poverty... it’s suffocating." His tone drops, colder now. Razor-sharp.