The two men stiffened. Only then did they realize that, absorbed in their conversation and swirling thoughts, night had fallen completely without their noticing. They had ignored their surroundings so thoroughly that someone had come this close without them detecting it.
There was no moon tonight. The road was dimly lit, with only the occasional streetlamp casting a murky yellow pool of light below.
The moment he saw the newcomer, Hughes's expression darkened. He moved in front of Hawthorne like lightning and growled in a low voice,
"Perez!"
"That's me."
Perez cast him a cold glance and said mockingly,
"And for your own good, you'd better not get so worked up—take a careful look at your surroundings."
Hughes kept his eyes fixed on him without relaxing in the slightest, but Hawthorne suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, clearly shocked.
Hughes swiftly swept his gaze around, and his heart clenched violently.
Within the faint glow where dim yellow light mingled with darkness floated something that absolutely should not have been there—
Golden dust.
Countless minute particles, each giving off a soft golden glow, hung silently in the air.
Blended into the halos of the streetlamps, they were nearly impossible to notice, yet they were everywhere, like a silent descending golden mist—smaller, denser, and more... real than the Gold Powder that had appeared at the banquet.
Like living motes, they slowly rose and fell with imperceptible currents of air, dyeing all the surrounding light with a dreamlike yet ominous shade of gold.
This stretch of space was terrifyingly silent.
The sound of the wind had vanished, and even the faint traffic noises from distant streets seemed to have been cut off.
The air had turned viscous. Every breath felt as though it were dragging against some invisible obstruction.
Hawthorne gently moved one