His golden eyes lock on mine, and for a split second something raw flashes through them, something almost human, before he slams the mask back on.
He shrugs, leans back in the chair, and takes another slow sip, like the world didn’t just tilt on its axis.
✧
“My little dog… the one from the forest?” I ask, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice while scooting my chair as far as it’ll go.
The legs scrape loud against the stone. Too loud.
✧
He shrugs again, like I asked about the weather.
“Please me first. A trade would be nice,” he says, no trace of humor.
The words land heavy between us, cold and sharp as a blade pressed to my throat.
✧
My breath shakes on the way out.
He watches me over the rim of the glass, eyes unreadable, patient.
✧
We both know I have zero say here.
Wh
