Cassian stood at the center of the hall, the polished floor cool beneath his boots, his sword hanging loosely at his side. Across from him waited the man he was meant to face: a broad-shouldered figure with a clean-shaven scalp that gleamed under torchlight. His presence wasn't loud or overbearing, but it carried the quiet weight of someone long accustomed to violence.
"You must be the boy Lady Brigid brought with her yesterday," the man said at last, his voice deep, unhurried. His gaze was sharp, appraising Cassian as though measuring his worth with every detail. "Her… slave, wasn't it?"
Cassian didn't let the word stir him. He gave only a faint nod, lips tugging into the smallest hint of a smile.
