Luca noticed it then.
The somber cast that had fallen over Leona's expression. The way her shoulders had dropped slightly, her fingers still fidgeting with the arrow, her gaze fixed somewhere far away.
He had pushed too hard and it was time to pull back.
He cleared his throat and glanced down at the arrow still clutched in her hands, then at the gun resting on the table between them.
"Well." He said, his tone deliberately light. "Luckily for you, Leona, I don't actually need your arrow. So, you can keep your family heirloom to yourself."
Saying this, he expected relief from Leona. A small smile, perhaps. Maybe even a quiet exhale of tension released.
But what he got instead was an immediate frown.
"Excuse me?"
"I said I don't need—"
"I heard what you said."
She pulled the arrow closer to her chest, her expression shifting into something thoroughly offended.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Do you think it isn't valuable? Is that what you're saying?"
"Leona—"
