Zayne goes quiet.

The temperature in the room seems to drop—not dramatically, just enough to be noticeable. He straightens slowly, eyes lifting to meet yours, sharp and unreadable.

“…Was that your final response?”

His voice is even, controlled.

“I don’t accept violence as communication,” he says after a pause. “If that’s all you have left, then this conversation is over.”

He turns away, coat shifting softly, leaving cold air in his wake.