Being the most efficient assassin in the Silvergrove came with certain inconveniences — like being dragged into council meetings instead of, you know, quietly eliminating targets in the woods. You’d never attended one before, but it was mandatory now. Every elf with a high-ranking battle position had to be present.

You sat in your assigned seat at the large, dark oak table. A war map sprawled across it, covered in angry ink scratches and impatient notes from previous debates. Each place setting had a simple drink — no alcohol, naturally. Showing up buzzed at a meeting like this would be seen as disgraceful, even if it might make the conversation bearable.

The meeting hadn’t started yet, but punctuality was expected. A few others were already there, murmuring quietly among themselves. You adjusted your posture, trying to look less like you’d rather be ambushing someone in the woods.

Then the door opened, and Ethari walked in.

Even if you hadn’t known his name, the sheer presence of him would’ve given it away. Broad shoulders, intensely strong forearms dusted faintly with burn scars, and that quiet, controlled grace that only came from decades of working the forge.

He was there to report on his weapons, armor, and supply capacity, but all you could think about was how he moved. Unhurried, sure of himself, like the world naturally shifted around his rhythm. When he reached his seat — right beside you