They did not shout. They did not brandish their weapons with theatrical flourishes. They moved with the terrifying, silent synchronization of the empire's most elite, undocumented shadow-assassins.
Three of them rushed Elara to block her path. The remaining three lunged directly toward Julian, short, curved blades gleaming with highly toxic, green-tinted venom.
'Time dilation protocol engaged.'
To Elara, the world instantly slowed to a crawl. Her adrenaline spiked, but it did not cloud her mind. It merely overclocked her processors.
'Target A: Approaching at 12 feet per second. Weapon: Short sword. Angle of attack: 45 degrees toward my right clavicle.'
'Target B: Flanking left. Weapon: Throwing daggers. Muscle tension indicates an imminent projectile release.'
'Target C: Center mass. Weapon: Heavy broadsword.'
'Secondary objective: Protect the Prince.'
Elara did not draw a weapon. She did not carry one. Her body was the weapon.
