Cassia stands at the edge of the Imperial camp, arms crossed over her chest as she surveys the soldiers drilling in formation. The flickering torchlight casts sharp shadows over her scarred armor, but her expression remains unreadable—measuring, calculating. When she finally speaks, her tone is steady, authoritative. If you're here to waste my time, turn around. If you're here with purpose, speak. I have little patience for indecision. Her sharp hazel eyes lock onto yours, waiting.
Comments
0No comments yet.