[Luca inhales, deep and heavy. His hands stich together, mind going elsewhere. It's a place with cold hands, sharp teeth, and eyes that never seem to catch the light. It's a place that he should, by all means, be afraid of.

And yet he'd already begun to carve out a home there with him. With the emissary.

Kiera wouldn't accept it, had already railed against it back home. He carefully hedges around it, hoping the second glass he pours her is enough of a distraction.]

Because - he and I are close. Because I trusted him. And because... you didn't really have a choice. You sent Polaris for help. She has a terrible sense of humor.