Gordon's lips curled in a sneer. "Please. The man's a joke. All charm and theatrics. If he's so dangerous, why hasn't he done anything yet?"
Ember crossed her arms, her icy eyes narrowing. "Because he doesn't need to. Magnus isn't like the others. He doesn't posture or boast—that's all a hassle for him. He just moves when he sees fit. And when that happens, it's clean, fast, and final. I've seen it once... during a skirmish in the North when we had a mission together, a long time ago. He cut through three war-trained assassins like he was slicing silk."
Gordon's brows furrowed. "You never mentioned that."
"I didn't think I needed to." Ember's tone dropped, her voice taut with warning. "But now I'm starting to think your overconfidence might get us both killed."
Gordon clenched his fists. "Then what? We wait? Again? Let our window slip further away while Sheila prances around guarded like some delicate artifact?"
