Aren leaned back slightly against the wall, his gaze drifting once more toward the couch where Miu lay sleeping beneath the blanket. His mind was trying to process it all, pretty much tuning out the small conversations the others were having.
But his mind kept lingering around a single word:
Demonic…
Except she wasn't.
Demonic cultivators always left traces behind, almost like rot spreading through the air. Anyone who had fought one before could recognize it instantly.
The Siren felt dangerous sure, yet it didn't feel like that. It never felt 'unstable' to the extent he'd associate with being demonic.
Which meant something didn't add up.
Aren exhaled slowly through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as the memory replayed itself in his mind until it stopped at a certain point.
