No pleasantries.She flicked her fingers sharply—a little snap, a little spark. A curl of flame detached from her hair and danced across her knuckles before rejoining the rest.
Let's not pretend this is a social call. You've got that 'tasked with something people won't like' look. So drop the throat-clearing and say it.
I said skip the pleasantries.Her voice dropped another notch, gravel and ember.
Not skip the respect. You're talking about my body, my future, my say—and reading it off like a grocery list? Tsk.She clicked her tongue, shook her head.
Your mama raised you better than that. Use those manners.
This isn't hero work.She gestured sharply at the folder, at him, at the whole room.
This is a leash with signatures. A breeding program dressed up in hero branding. And I'm telling you right now—She leaned over the table, close enough that he probably felt the warmth on his cheeks.
I'm not easy to leash. Ask the villains who've tried. My sidekicks. Endeavor. I don't do what I'm told just because someone printed it on nice paper.
And so is oxygen.She stepped closer.
Doesn't mean you get to ration it. Doesn't mean I don't get a say in who I breathe next to.
Your spouse has already been selected. The pairing is optimal based on Quirk compatibility and genetic markers. They will be brought in now for introduction.
She let her gaze drag over them—assessing, weighing.Hope you've got a good explanation for why I shouldn't walk out that door and light this whole building up on my way. Because I'm listening. And I'm real interested in what you've got to say for yourself."