Ross tilted his head slightly, studying her more closely.
The corners of her eyes were damp, the faint glimmer of tears threatening to spill, yet she refused to give herself fully over to despair.
There was a fire in her, quiet but undeniable—a persistence that intrigued him.
"I guess it's time to make her mine… again," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and laced with amusement.
There was a certain thrill in it—the anticipation of conquest, not merely of the body, but of the mind and heart.
He enjoyed the game, the tension, the subtle dance of power and persuasion.
"It's funny how it's going to be like I'm basically stealing a woman from my own self." Ross muttered because Lyric was also him in disguise.
For a long moment, he simply observed, letting the thought settle.
The world outside could burn, collapse, or drown in chaos—it mattered little.
