Rizwell felt a thin sheen of sweat gathered along his spine despite the steady composure he tried to maintain.
He chose not to question Maris any further.
There was something deeply unsettling about the certainty in her tone, about the way she spoke of the Eternal Sovereign as if referring to a force that observed everything without effort.
Rizwell had long learned to weigh words carefully, to probe and test intentions of parties he was getting involved with, yet in this moment he restrained himself.
A strange instinct told him that if he continued pressing, Delta might begin unveiling fragments of his own past that he would rather keep buried.
There were scars, decisions, and compromises that only a few knew about, and he had no desire to hear them spoken aloud in his own office.
He adjusted his posture and regained his composure.
