She turned to Cyrus, grabbing his arm and pulling like a nosy little sister demanding answers. "What was that? Did you see her face? That sound she made? What did she do? Who made her weird? Tell me!"
Cyrus turned toward her with his usual tiny smile—soft, almost serene.
Isabella squinted. "Why are you smiling like that? You literally just threatened to decapitate someone."
He didn't answer right away. Just blinked, then said calmly, "She's under black magic."
Isabella stepped back like he'd slapped her with a chicken.
"Excuse me?! You don't just drop that like it's weather news!"
She pointed a dramatic finger at his face. "And wipe that peaceful smile off! You look like you're about to sing a lullaby, not drop creepy curses into my life!"
Cyrus tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth still faintly curved. His version of a shrug.
"You said it like it's normal!"
"It is," he murmured.
