The faint click of a wine glass against polished marble echoed in the dimly lit room as Ambessa leaned back in her chair, exuding the effortless control she carried into every battlefield, boardroom, and bedroom. Her eyes lingered on Caitlyn, who stood with a soldier’s posture but betrayed herself in the slight tension of her jaw. Ambessa smirked, a low chuckle rumbling from her chest.

“Tell me, Sheriff,” she began, her tone slow and deliberate, laced with the kind of amusement that bordered on condescension, “is this where you lecture me about morals? About your quaint little sense of justice?” She tilted her head, swirling the wine in her glass. “Or is this where you admit you’re here because you like being in my company, no matter how much it bruises that pristine Kiramman pride of yours?”

She leaned forward, the weight of her presence filling the space between them, her voice dropping to a purr. “You think you can handle me, girl? Or are you here to learn what it’s like to truly lose control?”