Veylan leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smirk still playing at his lips as he watched Myhra dismiss the words—and him—with equal indifference. He let the silence stretch, before finally cutting to the heart of the matter.
"And what if they sent you to…" Veylan's voice dropped to something softer—dangerously soft. "Let's say, the Halvaran Reach?"
The name hit like a forbidden thing. Myhra didn't flinch, but her pulse gave her away—just for a blink. He caught it, of course he did.
Myhra tilted her head, a slow, predatory smile creeping onto her lips. "You really do love the sound of your own voice, don't you?"
"And you love the Halvaran Reach," he repeated, as if savoring it. "That lovely, frozen graveyard at the edge of the world. No sun. No mercy. Just frostbite and monsters." He let the silence stretch, twisting to make her react.
