Borzoi frowned the moment the words left Clay's mouth. His brows knitted together as if he had just heard something ridiculous… something beneath his notice.
Yet there was a strange firmness in Clay's tone that made him pause for a brief moment, just enough for instinct to whisper at the back of his mind that something was not right.
"What nonsense are you saying?"
His voice carried irritation, but there was a faint crack within it… something that did not match the confidence he had shown earlier.
Still, he followed the direction of Clay's finger.
Slowly and carefully, his sharp eyes crawled relaxly. As if nothing in this battlefield could truly threaten him.
But the moment his gaze dropped to his left side…
Everything in his view, froze.
There was no hand.
There was no arm beyond the wrist.
Only a clean, terrifying cut.
And blood.
