---
They were calm. Too calm. The calm of someone who had watched cities rise and fall and had learned that panic was for those who could still be surprised by death.
Her face was beautiful, but not soft.
Beautiful in a way that suggested her beauty was not a gift, but a weapon she carried without effort.
The City Lord did not breathe differently. But his instincts screamed one word silently.
Minimum mid level God.
Not because she announced it. Because the air around her refused to treat her like a normal being.
The woman's gaze fixed on him.
"You will inform me," she said, voice gentle now, almost polite.
"Yes," the City Lord replied. "I will."
The woman nodded once. Then she stood up. Her movement was smooth, like a dancer, but it carried no invitation. It carried dismissal, the way a superior ended a conversation because it had served its purpose.
She walked toward the office door.
The City Lord did not rise. He watched her calmly.
