"I'll see for myself," she declared, her tone laced with challenge.
Without any further warning, she reached for the sword at her side and drew it in one smooth, practiced motion. The blade gleamed in the light, and the sound of steel against the scabbard was sharp and clean, echoing through the quiet street. Her movements were controlled and precise—everything about her radiated the discipline and training of someone who had been wielding a sword since childhood.
I didn't reach for my weapon immediately, though my hand instinctively rested on its hilt. I watched her carefully, reading her stance. She was poised, ready, her eyes locked onto me like a predator waiting for the slightest movement from its prey.
I tilted my head slightly, still holding her gaze. "So," I asked, my voice calm, almost curious, "how exactly are you planning to see it for yourself? What are you going to do?"
