Xaden Riorson stood directly above me, his hand extended. Not in mercy. In curiosity.
The Unweathered
Then another voice—louder, raw, and utterly insane—answered: No. This is where you start. Fourth Wing
My body betrayed me. I looked.
His mouth twitched—not a smile, never a smile—and he grabbed my forearm. His grip was iron. He hauled me over the edge and onto the muddy, blood-stained soil of the Riders’ courtyard. Xaden Riorson stood directly above me, his hand extended
Xaden crouched down until his face was level with mine. Up close, his eyes weren't black—they were the deep, violent violet of a brewing storm. Xaden Riorson stood directly above me
He stood, brushing the mud from his hands.