Kael had never felt the weight of a stare like this before.
Aurelia Voss didn't just look at you. She read you. Dismantled you. Like her silver eyes had been sharpened into scalpels meant to flay weakness straight from your skin.
She was still standing when he sat.
Correction: She had not invited him to sit.
He sat anyway.
And for a moment—just a breath—something flickered in her eyes. Amusement? Irritation? Approval?
Hard to tell.
The only sound was the faint hum of magic in the walls—Velmora Corp. wasn't just wealthy, it was enchanted. Even the shadows moved like they answered to someone.
"I require perfection," Aurelia said, her tone smooth as cut obsidian. "Efficiency. Discretion. No excuses. My last assistant once used a hyphen where a semicolon belonged. He now stocks books in the archives of the Undercity Library."
Kael didn't flinch.
"I won't make that mistake."
"Won't you?" she mused. "You'd be surprised how many men fall apart in this chair. Too much power on this side of the desk. Too many fantasies. Ego has a smell, Mr. Drayven. It's… cloying."
"And what do you smell on me?"
A dangerous question. He didn't know why he asked it. Maybe because she wanted him intimidated. Maybe because he couldn't stand being anything less than defiant when it mattered.
Aurelia stepped closer to the desk.
She didn't smile. She studied him.
Then said, coolly: "Ambition. And the kind of desperation that can be useful."
Kael's jaw tightened.
She walked slowly behind her desk and sat, crossing one leg over the other with elegant precision.
Her skirt shifted just enough to reveal the edge of dark lace. A flash of thigh. Intentional? Unlikely. Aurelia didn't play games. She built the board and dared people to die on it.
"Tell me something, Mr. Drayven. What are you running from?"
The question landed harder than he expected. His eyes flickered toward the window. Rain traced lines across the glass, a gray echo of the truth he wouldn't give her.
"I'm not running," he said. "I'm chasing."
Her lips curled—not into a smile, but something close. Calculating. Contemplating.
"You have a past," she said. "Everyone does. But mine isn't the sort of company that hires... stories."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have summoned one," he replied.
A silence spread.
Then—sharp as a whip crack—she stood again and strode to the credenza at the back of the office. She poured herself a glass of dark amber liquor. Didn't offer him one.
She faced the city as she sipped.
"Tell me, Mr. Drayven... do you believe in loyalty?"
"To a cause? A person? Or a paycheck?"
"To me."
Kael stood.
Walked toward her.
Stopped a calculated step too close.
"I believe loyalty is earned," he said. "But once it is, I don't break it."
Aurelia turned slowly, the rim of the glass just brushing her lips.
"That," she whispered, "might be the most dangerous thing anyone has said to me in years."
Their eyes locked.
Then her phone buzzed.
She didn't break eye contact.
"Return tomorrow. 7:45 sharp. My schedule, my coffee, and a memo template reworked in AetherForm. You get three chances. Mess one up and I'll feed you to legal."
Kael nodded once.
She turned back to the window.
Dismissed.
He left the office with shoulders squared, but adrenaline raging through his bloodstream like fire.
Scene – Downstairs, With the Cleaner
As he exited the elevator, the same cleaner he'd spoken to earlier caught his eye. She was still scrubbing the same spot on the floor, like it had wronged her personally.
"Well?" she asked without looking up.
"I'm coming back tomorrow."
She gave a little grunt of approval.
"Good. You've got sharp eyes. She likes sharp eyes."
"You've worked here long?"
"Too long. Long enough to know who survives and who doesn't."
Kael paused. "And who survives?"
The woman finally looked at him.
"The ones who understand that Aurelia Voss isn't just a boss. She's a storm. You don't walk through a storm. You bow to it... or you learn how to dance in it without losing your soul."
Kael nodded.
He was ready to dance.
Scene – Kael's Apartment
Back in his cramped flat, Kael peeled off his blazer, staring at the thin folder she'd slid across the desk on his way out.
Tomorrow's schedule.
Detailed to the second. Alchemy meetings. Artifact imports. Political consultations. A lunch he was expected to reschedule based on "a shift in emotional bandwidth."
He chuckled.
"Emotional bandwidth," he muttered. "Gods, she really is mad."
But under the laughter, worry crept in.
Could he survive this?
Could he afford not to?
From behind the curtain in the next room, he heard his mother cough. A deep, raw sound that shredded his confidence in half.
He walked in. Sat beside her. Pressed a damp cloth to her brow.
"Just a little longer," he whispered. "I'm getting closer."
She smiled faintly, her lips cracked and dry.
"You've always been a fighter, Kael."
He pressed his forehead to her hand.
And promised, "I'll give her whatever she wants... just until I get what we need."
But deep down, he already knew...
This woman was not the type to let a man walk away clean.