"Sigh."
I let the sound escape deliberately—soft, unhurried, tinged with disappointment rather than alarm.
Velra noticed.
She always did.
"That answer," I said, still in character, "is precisely why this conversation is necessary."
Her red eyes narrowed further.
"And why is that?" she asked coldly. "Because I refuse to accept being cast aside?"
"No," I replied evenly. "Because your first instinct was not grief. Nor negotiation. But erasure."
Velra's lips curled, exposing her fangs more clearly now.
"In my world," she said, voice low and sharp, "that is negotiation."
I leaned back against the chair, fingers interlaced, posture relaxed—an infuriating contrast to her barely restrained aggression.
"And in mine," I answered, "that is treason."
The word landed with weight.
Alice's breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
Velra froze.
For just a fraction of a second, the beast slipped—and the noble resurfaced.
