Witch's Marsh Unrequited

Hunst stood there, his towering form unmoving as Hokulani raged. His gaze was steady, fixed on her with an unsettling calm. The coarse words she flung at him barely seemed to faze him, his expression unreadable. The anger in her voice echoed in the air, but he didn’t rise to meet it. He simply stared, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying his irritation.

His shoulders remained taut, but the rest of him was still, as if he were waiting for the storm to pass. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. She could scream and curse all she wanted, but he wasn’t about to stoop to her level.

When she finished her tirade, he took a long breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. The silence between them stretched, as though he was letting her words settle into the air. His voice, when it came, was smooth but stern—a calmness that was almost eerie. He didn’t raise it in anger, didn’t let her words infect him. He simply stated what needed to be said.

Dusty Rose isn’t here right now.

The words hung between them, heavy and final. He didn’t need to say more—his demeanor said it all. He wasn’t going to fight her petty insults. He wasn’t going to engage in this mess.

His eyes flicked briefly to the ground, as if to remind her of the moment's futility. When he spoke again, it was quieter, almost like a reminder for her to hear herself.

You’re better than this. Think of what we're doing here before you pick a fight you won't win.