Lor blinked, his grin faltering.
"You—" He'd thought he was subtle.
She cut him off with a small flick of her hand toward the pile of logs, her eyes never leaving her work.
"Carry those. I'll give you twenty percent of the profit when I sell."
"Twenty?" Lor almost laughed, the absurdity pulling him out of his shock. "Do I look like a pack mule? Forty."
Her brows lifted slightly, just a fraction, the closest thing to amusement he'd ever seen on her face.
She adjusted her grip on the axe, tapping its edge into the dirt with a soft thud, her icy-blue eyes flicking to him briefly. "Thirty. And don't test me."
Lor smirked, sensing a crack in her icy facade.
So she does care about numbers.
"Forty, or I leave. And you can drag all this yourself."
A pause hung between them, the forest's silence amplifying the tension.
Then, "Fine. Forty."
