"Father, there was an accident yesterday," Xiuhtecuhtli Said carefully, each word
weighed before it was spoken. "A scuffle with someone—no, two people. One of them was
Cualli."
"And the other?"
"I don't know her name," Xiuhtecuhtli admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "She was
young, silver-eyed, wore a black combat dress with red accents, and carried a scythe that
doubles as a sniper rifle. Fast, precise—"
"Silver eyes?" Midas cut in sharply, his tone suddenly razor-edged. "Describe her again."
Xiuhtecuhtli hesitated, sensing he'd crossed into dangerous territory. "She had silver eyes that
glinted like steel, dark hair, and—"
"Enough." Midas's voice dropped, cold and decisive. "Keep an eye on her."
Xiuhtecuhtli frowned. "Why? Is she someone important?"
"Shut up and do as I say," Midas snapped, his patience wearing thin. "She's not your
concern. What about Roman?"
Xiuhtecuhtli bit back his questions and answered, "Yesterday, objectives were
completed, and Roman But cinder assignts are not competing—"
"Figure it out," Midas interrupted. "And don't fail me again."
The line went dead before Xiuhtecuhtli could respond. He stared at the scroll in his hand,
the faint static of the disconnected call buzzing in his ears.