The attackers were undoubtedly Carrell family members. The moment Felicia descended, they had her in their sights. Using the thick fog as cover, they encircled her, attempting to capture her. Those disgusting cowards!
Felicia’s body tensed; she listened intently for any sound. Any movement, any further attack, would be met with immediate counterattack.
After a while, instead of a third attacker, she heard a low, amused chuckle from behind.
“Who would’ve thought my little cousin is quite skilled?”
Felicia instantly recognized Pete's voice. But "little cousin"? Revolting—especially considering he'd just shoved Kayla into a crevice without hesitation.
Turning, Felicia readied herself, silver needles held in her left palm. The air current from their earlier fight had dispersed some of the fog, gradually clarifying the scene.
She squinted at the approaching figure: a tall, upright silhouette moving with unhurried elegance, his movements stirring the fog, creating an almost ethereal effect. His skin was pale, almost sickly; his lips curled into a faint smile. He possessed a delicate, refined appearance that might inspire pity, and exuded a scholarly air. Handsome, yes, but Felicia remained unimpressed.
Maintaining her guard, she scanned her surroundings, hoping to find Stephan. There was no sign of him, only a large, crevice-shaped pit nearby—where Kayla had fallen. What was Stephan looking for? Could it be in that crevice?
Felicia quickly withdrew her gaze, careful not to betray her thoughts. But Pete had been watching, noticing the fleeting expression. Before she could speak, he said, “That’s right. Mr. Russell just went into the crevice. Unfortunately… he won’t be coming out. My dear cousin, do you want to go take a look?” His voice dripped with temptation, as if coaxing a reckless decision.
Felicia sneered. “I’m no cousin of yours! Don’t—"
"Alas…” Pete sighed, feigning sadness. “My dear cousin, you must’ve forgotten. I saw you when you were seven years old.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. If they weren't blocking her path, she wouldn't have wasted a second listening to his rambling. She had no interest in dredging up those memories. Whatever happened then wasn't worth remembering. Even if she had met him at seven, so what?
Idly spinning her knife, her patience frayed. "Are you done talking? Can you move aside now?" Her voice held an unmistakable threat.
Pete seemed surprised by her uncooperativeness. Her guarded indifference amused him.
“My dear cousin, you—"
He barely began speaking when a gleaming knife flew toward his face. Pete's reflexes were sharp; he dodged it.
Felicia withdrew her hand. "That was your last chance. If I hear you call me that again, I won’t miss next time."