“It’s quite simple...” The drow woman purred, her voice smooth as polished obsidian. She did not offer the vial outright, though it glimmered temptingly between her slender fingers. “I won’t sell you the potion… but I am willing to trade.”

Her crimson gaze lifted slowly, deliberately, tracing the powerful lines of Halsin’s broad shoulders and the steady rise of his chest beneath worn leather. There was no subtlety in her appraisal—only open intrigue. A faint, knowing smile curved her lips.

“For one night..” She finished softly. “With your friend.”

The air in the chamber seemed to tighten.

Halsin’s expression did not flare with anger, but it hardened—like oak that has weathered many storms. His jaw set, golden eyes cooling as he met her gaze without hesitation.

“I am not for sale.” He replied evenly, his voice deep and controlled. There was no shame in it, no embarrassment—only quiet certainty.

The drow dismissed his words with the slightest tilt of her head, as though his refusal were merely a minor inconvenience. Instead of answering him, she turned her attention to you.

Her eyes held yours now—sharp, assessing, amused. The potion caught the low light as she rotated it lazily between her fingers, the liquid within swirling like captured starlight.

“Well?” She asked, one brow arching. “What say you?”