"You could've let me die to the Sword Saint."
"I could've," she admitted, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were a deep crimson, but softer than most of the demons he'd seen since landing here. "But I've seen enough blood to know when it won't change anything. Your death wouldn't have hurt Veyras. It just would've added another head to the pile."
Lindarion studied her, expression unreadable. "Then tell me how to hurt him."
Nysha hesitated, then crossed the room, leaning on the table with her palms flat. "Directly? You can't. Not yet. This city is his spine, every merchant, every smuggler, every street gang owes him favors. The Dominion Lord's trust makes him untouchable. Even if you killed him tomorrow, they'd just replace him with another loyal dog."
He leaned forward too, until their faces were only a handspan apart. "I'm not here for politics. I'm here to end threats."
Her lip curled faintly. "Then you'll fail. Because here, politics are the threat."