Azriel's Point Of View
Nadia remained on the floor, a heap of silk and misguided ambition, completely rooted to the ground by a fear so thick I could practically taste it in the air. It was a metallic, sour scent—the smell of someone realizing they'd played a game they weren't equipped for, wagering chips they didn't possess.
The scent clung to the room like smoke, acrid and unmistakable. I didn't give her the satisfaction of another glance. She wasn't worth the energy it would take to maintain eye contact, wasn't worth even a fraction of my attention.
I turned my back on her, my fingers moving to the silk of my tie. I pulled it loose, the fabric sliding through my collar with a soft hiss that sounded like a warning… a serpent's promise of what would come if she didn't leave.
