"What a nuisance... He has actually mastered such power; my prophecy failed to foresee this..."
Hypnos's voice was low and hoarse, like an ancient cold wind sweeping past. His eyes—those pupils as black as an abyss—were fixed intently on Devereux lying on the bed, a complex emotion flashing through them. It was shock, contemplation, and a reluctant acceptance.
Proudfoot stood in a corner of the room, her gaze flickering with unmistakable unease. She cast a furtive glance toward the door, as if dreading some uninvited guest might suddenly burst in, and spoke in a low voice.
Chapter 484