"We haven't. Don't be rude, Ezren."
Ezren's gaze slid back toward Victoria, that ever-present glint of amusement sharpening behind the cool frost of his eyes.
"Hm," he murmured, swirling the contents of his glass without looking down. "Still… I think I'm starting to like him."
That earned a ripple across the table—subtle, but noticeable. Even Leon raised an eyebrow, while Lillian straightened in her seat, her lips parting as if to question him.
Ezren didn't wait for the reaction.
"He's shaking the dust off this place," he continued, his voice smooth as lacquered silk. "Vermillion's been stagnant for years. The same names. The same games. But now…" He tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Now things are shifting. The weak don't stay weak. The fallen stand up. And the ones who think they're untouchable… start twitching."
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
Every syllable landed with quiet weight—carefully placed, deliberately slow.
Then he glanced sideways.
