Storm of Kings and Stee
Nova's voice escalated alongside Leon, gentle but slicing through tension like a sword. Even, unbreakable. "Darling, you get the old man," she told him, her green eyes blazing with quiet fury. "We'll take care of the rest.
Each word, every step, hummed with lethal intent. The courtyard was not a battlefield, it was a tempest pent, waiting to unleash itself, and at its very center Natasha stood, still, unchanging, horribly alive with energy.
Leon smiled weakly. "As you wish."
The instant the words escaped his lips, the courtyard was a whirlwind of activity. Nova danced like a living sword—green steel screaming through the smoke, a flash of light that sliced with impossible beauty. Her blows were calculated, each one finding meat or armor before the enemy could grasp the space she'd just vacated. Men fell as if by unseen strings; the ring of steel on bone and steel on armor filled the air.
