Nyxara shifted in his lap.
One smooth motion, thighs pivoting, the blade transferring from her right hand to her left as she turned to face him fully, and when she settled back down her knees bracketed his hips and her eyes were level with his from inches away.
The obsidian relic hung loose in her left grip. Her right rose and pressed flat against the living metal covering his chest.
"Synchra, be a good girl and give me some room."
[Synchra] resisted for exactly one heartbeat, the Anima-grade armor humming a vibration against Nyxara's palm that carried more jealousy than compliance.
Then the living metal receded from his chest in a slow, grudging retreat, peeling back until warm skin met warm palm and the bond beneath it pulsed in recognition.
Nyxara's fingers spread over his heart, and her smile sharpened.
"What is she doing?!" Myrasyn yelped at the nearest person who looked like they might have answers, which happened to be Black Fang. "This woman is far too indecent!"
