A whistle drew his attention to the scout.
Sylphie—leather-clad, dual daggers at her hips—circled him like a hawk eyeing fresh meat.
"Hmm… cute face, nice arms. Maybe you'll make a good distraction while we handle the goblins."
Ethan didn't flinch.
The priestess, Elira Dawnshield, stood a little apart from the group. Her robes bore the light of sanctified runes, and a silver staff rested at her side. She hadn't spoken, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than the others. No malice—just an assessing calm.
The last one, Velmorrin Quen, leaned on his staff like it was just another limb. Tall, sharp-eyed, and quiet. A mage, clearly. His fingers were twitching slightly, laced with mana. Watching. Thinking.
Ethan could tell. That one was cautious.
He ignored the remarks. "What are the loot rules?"
The group paused.
Rynel blinked, then scoffed. "Really? You think it'll matter to you?"
"I'm just making sure," Ethan said, voice flat. "Don't want disputes later."
