Zane’s gaze swept over the swarm of Crimson Shroud operatives, then landed on Praise’s blade resting at Sera’s throat.
His expression didn’t waver, but his voice slipped into that low, dangerous calm.
"Nyx... odds of winning?"
{Query processed. Calculating variables...} Nyx’s voice was crisp in his mind. 98.7%—thanks to your Law of Null.
Zane smirked faintly. "That’s better than I expected."
{However...}
"...However?"
{There is a significant clause. Your victory depends on preventing one condition—Praise can kill Sera at any mont. If that happens, 98.7 becos 0.0 instantly.}
As if to prove Nyx’s words, Praise’s grip tightened. She pressed the dagger just enough for a thin red line to bloom across Sera’s pale skin.
Sera winced, her eyes locking onto Zane’s.
Her lips ford a silent plea—help .
The smirk faded from Zane’s face.
His fingers flexed once, curling toward the hilt at his side. The air around him began to bend ever so slightly, shadows pulling toward his boots like iron to a magnet.
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