"Very well. You aren't that powerful to provoke them yet." Katherine said, leading the way past the caged Infernals. Her cane tapped against the stone floor in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each strike echoing down the hall like a countdown.
Chloe studied them. They bared their teeth at her, yellowed and jagged, saliva dripping onto the bars in thick ropes. But under Katherine's stern gaze, they backed down. Shoulders hunched, growls swallowed, eyes sliding away like children caught in a lie. They didn't look scary at all—just cowards. All of them. Fear had a smell, and it clung to them thick.
"Grandma, what do they eat?" she asked, curious. They looked too plump to her. Too full. The skin over their ribs was stretched tight, not gaunt like starvation would suggest.
"The dead don't eat." Katherine didn't stop walking. Her voice was flat, factual, like she was explaining the weather.
