Tristan held up a hand as Malcolm made to protest, those quicksilver eyes burning intensely. "But surely even you can recognize the sheer power and overarching influence her bloodline wields, brother. If that forked-tongued temptress does indeed possess lead of Rafe's whereabouts after all these centuries, we cannot simply dismiss or ignore any opportunity she deigns to dangle before us - no matter the perilous strings attached."
Malcolm let out a slow, resigned exhalation - as if physically deflating before Tristan's intensity. Some of the tightly-wound tension seemed to bleed from his spectral form. "You're right..." he admitted reluctantly, displeasure clouding his deep baritone. "As per bloody usual, it seems I'm the one allowing emotion and base fear to overrule logic and reason."
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