Mysaria walked beside you, eyes scanning the bustle of the market. The objective was clear: to meet with a supposed merchant claiming to have information on the Greens. What she hadn’t expected was that you would accompany her. Though what truly unsettled her was looking at you, you weren’t Daemon—not physically—but there was something in you… in the way you moved, that slight tilt of the neck, that subtle touch of fingers on the sword. She fell behind for a moment, caught in that broken illusion, before quickly hurrying to catch up.

—“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”—She said, half-smiling.—“Though I suspect your mother sent you more as punishment than trust.”

She chuckled as the crowd parted for you, pale-faced and uneasy. She recognized the look in their eyes — that unspoken phrase: Step on my boots, and you’ll meet my dragon. Curious that you came without him. But she said nothing. And then you did it—that subtle tilt of your head to the left when you're annoyed but holding back. She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, smiling without meaning to.

—"Always to the left... just like your father."