The heavy doors creaked open, interrupting the tension in the room, and in strolled Nevya, Crimson’s younger sister.

She moved with a lightness that seemed almost out of place in Drako’s imposing stone corridors, her steps barely audible against the polished floors.

A mischievous grin danced across her lips, the kind that Crimson had learned to tolerate and Antony had grown to dread. She paused in the doorway for a heartbeat, her large, curious eyes scanning the room, clearly sensing the storm brewing between the two men.

Nevya was a striking contrast to her elder brother. While Crimson’s body was built like a fortress, towering and intimidating, Nevya’s frame was petite, almost delicate. Her skin was smoother, with only a soft layer of fur tracing her forearms and a light dusting across her cheeks that gave her an unusual, almost ethereal appearance.

Perched atop her head were ears similar to Crimson’s—wolf-like and expressive—but while his stood rigidly alert, hers drooped slightly forward, giving her an endearing, almost playful look.

She had a way of exuding innocence, even when she was up to something, and her slight stature only added to her deceptively harmless appearance. But Crimson knew better; beneath that charming smile, Nevya was sharp as a blade and twice as unpredictable.

Crimson’s eyes narrowed, his annoyance evident in the brief flicker of his ears. He was not in the mood for her games.

“What do you want, Nevya?” he grumbled, though he made an effort to keep his tone level.

Antony, on the other hand, offered her a short smile, though his eyes betrayed his impatience.

Nevya skipped across the room, each step light and airy, her movement a deliberate contrast to the oppressive tension that hung like a storm cloud between Crimson and Antony.

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Her smile widened as she passed Antony, and she gave him a playful wink. “Oh, don’t look so stiff, Lucius," she teased, her voice lilting like the melody of a mischievous song. "You look as if you’ve swallowed something bitter—again."

Without waiting for a response, she turned her attention to her brother.

She made no effort to soften her entrance, the storm outside continuing to rage, but Nevya seemed untouched by the gloom, radiating a kind of lightness that only seemed to irritate Crimson further.

She paused at the center of the chamber and gave a dramatic spin, her arms raised in mock disappointment. “Honestly, brother, this room feels so dull. Like a crypt. Can’t you add a little color or maybe a splash of warmth? I swear, even the lightning outside has more personality than this place.”

Crimson's scowl deepened, his amber eyes flashing a warning that would have sent most Drakonians scurrying for cover, but Nevya was unfazed.

She met his fierce gaze without flinching, even going so far as to wrinkle her nose at him playfully. To her, Crimson’s grim expressions were as familiar as the weather, and just as easy to ignore. She reached into the folds of her cloak, her fingers brushing the thin layer of fur that covered her arms, and pulled out a sealed letter.

She held the letter up, dangling it in front of Crimson with a pout. “You know,” she said, her voice sweet but scolding, “you really need to be nicer to the staff, big brother. They were practically trembling, refusing to come anywhere near you while you were talking with our esteemed guest.”

She nodded toward Antony, who still stood with that thin, strained smile plastered on his face. “I had to fetch this myself because they said they’d rather face the storm outside than disturb you.”

Crimson’s eyes flickered to the letter, then back to Nevya. His expression remained stern, but Nevya merely waved the letter impatiently. “It’s from Aropia,” she said, her grin widening as she spoke the next words. “From Ren Canahy himself.”

The mention of Ren’s name seemed to bring the tension in the room to a boiling point, but Nevya stood there with an air of complete indifference, as if she had just mentioned a letter from an old friend. She thrust the letter into her brother’s hands, her gaze sparkling with curiosity and amusement.

“Really, Crimson,” she chided, leaning in closer with a playful whisper, “if you keep snarling at every little thing, you’ll scare off more than just the servants. Lighten up, won’t you?”