The adept who had so brazenly intruded on Alaric's work stepped toward him. Her straight, blonde hair fell in a shiny curtain to her shoulders and swayed about her face as she tilted her head to watch the way his hands floated over Mallin's prone form.
Irritation flared in Alaric's chest at the accusations in Regan's eyes, but he pushed it down. He wasn't Ciprian. If someone had a doubt about him, he wanted to hear it. Even from a subordinate as inexperienced as she was.
But that didn't mean he had time to waste on nonsense and dramatics.
"If you have something to say to me, just say it. I'm busy."
Regan scoffed as if she had a right to. As if she any clue what he'd been shielding her and the others from so they could continue to exist in relative peace.
Alaric ignored her and focused on Lysander's brother.
