"So. You're saying I'm not charismatic normally?"
Astron turned to look at her fully, his gaze calm as ever, but this time there was something undeniably deliberate in his pause—like he was giving her one last chance to brace herself.
"That much," he said flatly, "must be obvious even to you."
Irina stopped in her tracks.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and glinting with heat. "Obvious, huh?"
Astron met her stare without a flicker of hesitation. "You're too stubborn. Too direct. And your temper flares in under five seconds."
"And yet somehow," she shot back, stepping up beside him again, "people still line up to listen when I speak."
"They're scared of you," he said, almost too fast.
Irina blinked. "Scared?"
Astron shrugged, hands tucked casually in his pockets. "Charisma through fear is still charisma."
"You little—" She exhaled, half-laughing now, trying not to give him the satisfaction. "You really know how to kill a compliment."
"You were the one who asked."
