"Yes," he said finally.
Kastiel held his gaze for a moment longer, as though weighing the truth of that single word, measuring not just the answer but the man behind it. There was no immediate approval in his expression, no reassurance—only quiet assessment.
"Then perhaps," he said at last, his voice low and even, "you may succeed."
The answer was neither encouragement nor dismissal.
It lingered somewhere in between.
Before Austin could respond—before he could ask more, push further, demand something clearer—another presence approached.
One of Kastiel's men.
He moved with purpose, stopping just close enough to lean in and murmur something into Kastiel's ear. The words were too quiet to catch, but whatever was said was enough.
For the briefest moment—so brief most would have missed it—Kastiel's expression shifted.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't shock.
But something sharpened in his gaze, something focused and cold, like a blade being drawn silently from its sheath.
