Nina let the silence stretch between them, her fingers tightening around the cold plastic bottle just enough to make the cheap material crinkle under her palm. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the tense quiet.
She didn't stand up. She didn't look away. Instead, she remained perched on the rusted edge of the equipment crate, her spine perfectly straight against the raw wool of her costume, gazing up at Lydia through her eyelashes with calculated composure. Years of navigating hostile environments had taught her that stillness could be its own form of power.
"A mysterious sponsor," Nina repeated, her voice dropping into a low, smooth cadence that lacked any heat whatsoever. The words came out completely calm, almost conversational… the kind of tone that made people lean in before they realized they'd been cut.
