Selene set down her teacup with deliberate elegance, the faint clink of porcelain against ice echoing through the room. Alvin's aura pulsed like a living threat—dark, irritated, barely contained.
She didn't so much as blink.
"Alvin," she said smoothly, "if I wanted your Treasure Room key, I would've taken the whole drawer. And the desk. And possibly you, unconscious, just to save myself the trouble of dealing with your tantrum."
"Cute," Alvin snapped. "Give it back."
Selene crossed her arms. "Why do you assume I took it?"
"Because you were in my tower," Alvin said coldly. "You were in my office. And you breathe. Three reasons."
Selene stared at him for a full second. "Your logic is as rotten as your personality."
"And yet," Alvin said with a sweet, poisonous smile, "it keeps pointing to you."
Selene stood up slowly, frost magic rippling around her like moonlight solidified. "Do you think I need your little trinket? I am the Grand Mage of Ice—"
