Draven walked beside Lucavion as they stepped out of the meeting room, the heavy doors shutting behind them with a dull thud. The noise lingered for a second before fading into the distant sounds of the city beyond.
The air outside was cool, carrying the distant scent of the sea mixed with the sharper, grittier notes of Varenthia itself—smoke, spice, damp stone. A city that was alive, unpredictable.
Draven glanced at Lucavion, hands tucked in his pockets. "So?" he asked, his voice light but edged with something knowing. "How's this place treating you?"
Lucavion hummed, tilting his head slightly. "This place?" He exhaled, a small smirk curling his lips. "Not bad."
Draven huffed a quiet chuckle. "Not bad," he repeated. "That's all?"
Lucavion's dark eyes flicked toward him, amused. "Should I be more poetic?"
Draven rolled his eyes. "Tch. Don't push it."
