Leona lit a cigarette, the curling smoke casting a ghostly haze over her sharp, calculating features.
Her voice, steady and firm, carried the weight of two decades managing the Alliance's labyrinthine finances.
"I've overseen the Alliance's coffers for nearly twenty years," she began, her gaze slicing through the screen. "No transaction—public or private—escapes my notice. Voidstar No. 2 may not appear on official records, but deals of that size always leave traces. I'm not interested in where the money goes. I just want your weapons."
In times of war, currency became a fleeting abstraction, its value eroded by desperation and inflation. Only resources—tangible, practical, and destructive—held any true worth.
Lyra sat up straighter, her composure steady. "Let's talk price."
"I can only offer half the market rate," Leona replied, her tone unyielding.
"Eighty percent," Lyra countered, her voice unwavering.
