"C-Cyrus?" Isabella's brows drew together as she spotted the tall figure standing just off to the side. His red hair moved gently in the night breeze, catching the dim moonlight like flame, but his body was perfectly still—unnaturally so. Her voice cracked with disbelief as she slowly straightened up, the nausea from the teleport already fading beneath confusion.
What was he doing standing here... waiting?
Cyrus didn't respond at first. His eyes—those soft pink orbs—were locked on Kian, unwavering, unreadable. But the moment he heard her voice, that stare shattered. He turned.
His gaze found hers instantly. That blank mask he wore melted, giving way to the gentle warmth he always carried—except this time, it was weighed down with something else. Worry. Deep, tender worry.
