Slipping Through the Night
Sona leaned her head to one side, her silver hair flowing like liquid silk over a shoulder, catching the radiance of the chamber's lantern light. Her voice, gentle but unflinching, contained the serenity weight of a person who had long ago mastered the art of masking storms with grace.
"Yeah," she said, her voice holding a soft note of consideration. "It vexed me too. But if our Lord speaks tomorrow, then tomorrow we depart. I believe he knows what he is doing."
Her words weren't blind faith—they had conviction, as if each and every decision Leon made had a hidden thread only she could sense.
Situated across from her, Natasha's black eyes narrowed, watching Sona for an extended period. Shadows played in those eyes, dark and razor-sharp as the darkness of midnight, before they melted back into something cunning. Gradually, her lips spread into a smile that was nearly wicked in its wisdom.
