Leonhardt's eyes flicked to hers. Calm. Focused.
"What do you want, Aella?"
Her voice dropped low. "I want in. Not just a cut. Not just a pretty role on some ledgers and a few crates of sparkling fruit piss. I want to sit at the table. With you."
Behind him, Nyxara became tense.
Her smile vanished for a moment as her fingers twitched on the hilt of her sword. It was rude for a woman to do this, for dark elves. If someone challenged their leader, it caused both a pulse of jealousy and great anger.
Aella slipped closer, as if going for the kill.
She ignored the crackling mana and stepped closer, step by step.
"I want to know what you really are. You're not human—I've known that since the first time you walked in here with your calm little smirk and eyes that don't flinch at anything. You're not a merchant. You're not a noble brat. And you sure as hell aren't just some guy with a dungeon pass."
She leaned in until they were only inches apart.
