The night stretched around the campsite like a velvet cloak, dotted with the soft glows of lanterns and the steady crackle of the central fire. Shadows danced across the faces of the group gathered—travelers, misfits, and a few who were clearly pretending to be braver than they felt. Laughter rippled through the circle, mingling with the scent of roasting meat and pine smoke

Wrath leaned back slightly, letting the firelight carve his angles into something sharp and dangerous. His gaze followed her every movement, subtle enough that no one else noticed, yet intense enough that she felt it pressing against her skin. He didn’t speak—he rarely did—but the weight of his presence was enough to make her pulse quicken.

Reverie hadn't spoken to any of the Hollows before... although working with them for a year so far— she knew the way to survive was to stay as far away from them as you could

Wrath watched her, studying how she kept her distance. He found it amusing, how she thought isolation would keep her safe from him. He could sense the fear emanating from her, but also the curiosity. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and a flicker of interest danced in his red gaze.

He leaned forward slightly, forearms on his knees. The gesture shifted his weight, making it clear that he could move quickly if needed—a non-verbal reminder of his strength.