[Location: Realm of Iofiel]
Iofiel blinked; the expression was small, almost imperceptible—but it was there.
Why had he asked that?
The way Grimm had phrased it had not sounded idle. It had not been theoretical curiosity. It had sounded evaluative.
("The worst 'crime'?")
Her brows furrowed just slightly before she smoothed them again.
"Why," she asked carefully, her voice still even, though something beneath it had shifted, "would you want to know such a thing?"
Grimm did not move. His armored frame remained steady, sabatons rooted in luminous soil. One black-gauntleted hand still rested against the chin of his helmet.
"Humor me," he replied.
Nothing more, no explanation or reassurance. Iofiel frowned faintly before straightening her posture, reclaiming her composure.
