Damian's mouth curved faintly. "I want personality."
Gregoris went very still.
It was always like this with Damian. He'd start with war, then slide the blade sideways until it was in your ribs, and only then would he casually announce it had been his intention the entire time.
"You want…" Gregoris began, then stopped, the words tasting wrong. "You want… What? Anecdotes?"
"I want the truth," Damian said, tone mild. "Not the version your men write when they know it will be archived. Not the version you curate because you think feelings are a leak in security."
Gregoris stared at him like he was trying to decide where, exactly, to bury the body and how long it would take the palace wards to notice.
Damian waited, serene.
Gregoris' voice dropped. "You're asking me to gossip."
Damian's eyes lit with satisfaction. "If you insist on calling it that."
Gregoris' grip tightened on the report in his hand.
Damian's eyes flickered to it, amused. "Don't throw that. It has numbers."
