The moment Velra's heel touched the ground, the three impostors exchanged a glance.
Their eyes narrowed in sync.
Then—crack—a sharp sound echoed as one slammed a smoke bomb onto the ground.
FWOOSH.
Thick gray clouds exploded in every direction.
It swallowed the ruined street in a choking haze.
It blinded all vision in seconds.
Velra didn't flinch.
The fog swirled through the air, but she didn't move to chase.
Didn't even raise a hand.
She just stood there, breathing slow, lips curling with amusement.
"Running already?" Her voice echoed through the mist.
"Valcair must really be scraping the bottom of the slave barrel."
No answer came—only the sound of rapid footsteps vanishing deeper into the alleys.
Then silence.
Velra exhaled softly. "Cowards."
She turned away—but not in frustration.
Not even in disappointment.
There was satisfaction in her smirk.
"I knew they'd run."
From beneath the slit of her bodysuit, she pulled a small shard glowing faintly.
