It didn't take long before I spotted them.
Vaylin's squad.
A group of four, lined up like they owned the battlefield. Not exactly subtle, but hey—confidence has a way of dragging idiots into the spotlight.
They weren't carrying any obvious weapons, which was the first red flag. Most players liked to flex—big swords, fancy staves, glowing hammers—something. These four? Dressed in sleek leather armor that looked more like it came from a fashion boutique than a battle sim.
Mage types? Probably.
I gently lowered Kaelira from my back. My shoulder wound had closed up nicely, and with each passing second, I could feel mana flowing through me again. Sharp. Clean. Ready.
Then I locked eyes with Vaylin.
Tall guy. Deep green hair, sapphire eyes, a jawline so chiseled it could slice butter—if butter was a war crime. From a purely male perspective, I had to admit: he was ridiculously attractive.
