"If you can understand how not to antagonize Lucien Lysandra with that brain of yours—one that only wakes up for circuits and glyphwork—then surely, I can manage the same."
The words were smooth.
But they landed like acid.
Thalor's jaw clenched—barely. His fingers curled tighter around the glass. That line… that line, Cassiar knew would sting.
Because Thalor was many things—genius, strategist, architect of mana infrastructure—but Cassiar's insult wasn't about intelligence.
It was about value.
The implication that Thalor only thought in patterns. That he couldn't understand people the way Cassiar could. Couldn't bend them. Couldn't play them.
Not like a Vermillion.
And the worst part?
Thalor couldn't do anything.
Not to him.
Not with the Vermillion family sitting on half the Tower's research budget. Not when the Draycotts—his own bloodline—were still tied to the artifact labs through Vermillion funding.
Thalor didn't move for a second.
