Selara entered the cargo wagon with her mana firearm in one hand.
Whatever elegance she had carried at the beginning of the trip had suffered badly. Her sleeve was scorched, part of her hair had slipped loose, and the refined director who had boarded the train hours ago now looked much closer to the Selara Trafalgar actually knew. Dangerous, irritated, and one bad sentence away from making someone regret being born with working nerves.
Her attention fixed on Merisse.
Merisse, restrained against the cargo frame, raised her head and smiled as if she had been waiting for this part.
"Hello, Selara."
Selara's fingers tightened around the firearm.
"Oh," she said softly, stepping closer. "This day just got better."
Merisse's smile did not last long. The restraints around her wrists pulsed with silver light when she tried to shift, and pain crossed her face before she swallowed it down with obvious hatred.
Selara stopped in front of her.
