"I refuse."
Reynald's brow furrowed, confusion finally cracking through the mask of composure.
"…Why?"
The word wasn't sharp or accusing—it was stunned. A genuine question. And around them, the chorus echoed.
"What?"
"He said no?"
"But why would he—?"
Lucavion's smirk widened. The confusion, the disbelief—it rolled over him like a breeze. Familiar. Predictable.
"Ah," he said, drawing out the sound like a connoisseur savoring fine wine. "That expression… I do love that one."
He tilted his head, locking eyes with Reynald, whose grip subtly shifted—still low, still defensive, but tighter now. Less relaxed.
"One of my absolute favorite things to do," Lucavion mused, his voice light, almost conversational, "is to look someone dead in the eye, right as they offer me what they think is a perfectly fair deal…"
A beat.
And then—
"…and say 'no.'"
The final word hit like a bell toll, its echo dancing across the broken terrain of the safe zone.
