The absolute, final dismissal in Alaric's laugh echoed in the silent chamber long after the sound had faded. It was the sound of a game ending, a gambit failed. Lin Ruoli's last, desperate card—the offer of her body and her empire's secrets—had been casually, contemptuously brushed aside. She was left standing beside him, exposed and utterly powerless, her skin burning with a humiliation that was colder and sharper than any fear she had ever known.
Seeing the utter futility of the conversation, the complete and total dead end she had reached, her training took over. When a negotiation fails, you retreat, you reassess, you report back. Survival was paramount.
She gathered the shattered remnants of her composure, piecing them together into a fragile mask of professional grace. She stepped back from him, creating a sliver of personal space, and gave a small, flawless bow that was a masterpiece of controlled elegance.
