Ruthless.
I don't know if it's the right word, but it's the only one that comes to mind.
The chaos around us is deafening—guards barking orders, tables splintering, the sharp crack of gunfire as the undercity swallows itself in violence. Yet somehow, it all feels muted, like I'm trapped in a bubble with Aeliana's venomous words stabbing at my ears.
Until now, I've merely tolerated her. She was just a presence—a polished music box sitting at the corner of my life, harmless and decorative. But tonight, as she pushes me through the bar door like a doll she's grown bored of, I'm forced to consider her as something real.
I grunt as her shove jostles my injured shoulder, sending a sharp pang radiating down my arm. "Ugh! What are you—"
"Keep walking," she snaps, her tone as icy as her perfectly manicured hands.
