Tension is a very powerful thing.
It is not loud. It does not roar or announce itself like rage or fear. It does not rush in like panic, nor does it burn hot like hatred. Tension is patient. It waits. It coils.
Tension is the breath you don't realize you're holding.
It is the silence that stretches a heartbeat too long, the way laughter fades just half a second early, the way eyes flick toward a door that hasn't opened yet. It settles into muscles, into instincts, into the part of the soul that remembers being hunted... or being the hunter.
This tension was what those gathered felt as they watched the three women locked in a staring contest.
One was a very tall woman, about 7.7 feet tall, with long white hair that fell to her waist, wolf ears, and a wolf tail. She wore a blue battle dress with white designs made from animal fur. Emma Fenrir.
