Adam glared at the imposter, at its polite posture. Hand down toward Quintella, back slightly bent in, if not exaggerated politeness, enticing theatrics. Even its voice had shifted. No more mocking or varying between low and high chuckles, but the mellowness of his sister whenever she discovered new pastries. It should have smelled like honey.
But Adam only felt the stink of deception behind it all.
His gaze trailed to the lidless eye on the standard beside the desk. For a heartbeat, he lost himself in the runes forming its iris. The legacy sanctum of House Dreadmarche...
Then, his eyes softened at the real Quintella. She slept so peacefully in the large bed, likely lost in dreams of honey and sweets... likely never to awaken unless the imposter allowed her to. The fake knew about his weapons, spells, and even his ability to use qi, yet didn't seem phased in the slightest, as if none could threaten it.
