Rosalia — POV
The little girl buried her face in her grampa chest, shuddering violently.
He held her tenderly, soothing her with soft pats to the back and speaking softly.
Then, with care, he passed her to the strong, stern-looking man beside him—the soldier.
Then, and only then, did he turn back toward Cassel, his eyes rising to his son still helplessly suspended in the air.
"Let my son down as well. We'll take him and leave, and later we'll come to your home to thank you properly."
The elder's behavior was noble and composed.
Even while asking forgiveness for his son's actions, he didn't beg or crumble.
His dignity remained intact.
A man who apologized without lowering his pride.
But Cassel only raised a brow, replying coldly—utterly devoid of politeness.
"You want me to release the man who tried to kill my girl? Just like that?"
A terrifying killing aura radiated from Cassel's body—thick, suffocating, sharp enough that even the air felt heavier.
