Sighing, Stan stopped asking questions and simply focused on running.
Behind him, Camilla kept pace, her gaze fixed on the back of his neck.
Her crimson eyes lingered on the pulse at the base of his throat with the quiet, instinctive focus of a predator forcing herself not to strike. She licked her lips, then buried the urge beneath one last, hard-earned act of restraint.
'He thinks several steps ahead,' she noted internally.
'Unlike the greedy cultivators I've dealt with over the centuries, the ones who see a treasure and simply grasp for it, he is gathering information. Calculating risks. Reading me while pretending to run.'
'He's dangerous in a way I did not expect a mortal to be dangerous.'
'But what use could that possibly be against me, though?'
'Its all pointless...'
She kept running. She kept watching him.
