Rakshasa's gaze darkened briefly at his provocation, but it wasn't pure irritation; there was something more complex, a mixture of surprise, amusement, and a slight trace of discomfort at having been, once again, pulled out of her own rhythm. Still, she didn't lose her composure. Her fingers rested lightly on the table again, and her gaze remained fixed on him, firm, penetrating.
"Don't rush…" she began, her voice lower now, carrying a tone that wasn't exactly reprimand, but also wasn't permissive. "It's not time to call me that yet. I have—"
"It's not going to happen anyway," Victor cut in, without raising his voice, but with a firmness that completely interrupted her flow. There was no aggression, but there was authority. He didn't even abruptly change his posture; he simply spoke, like someone deciding where the line is drawn.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was… sharp.
