She could see the fine texture of his skin, the chiseled line of his jaw, and the delicate sweep of his lashes over his emerald eyes, though the expression hidden behind his glasses remained unreadable under the light.
"Thank you." Hera smiled softly at Zhane, seemingly oblivious to the subtle shift in the pot-bellied man's demeanor. But she didn't care whether he feared them or not; it would only make him look like a struggling, dying man.
It was as if, to save face, the pot-bellied man refused to back down, even if it meant resorting to intimidation and even using interest in front of Zhane and Rafael. In the upper circle, almost everyone believed that personal interest could sway everyone to turn a blind eye.
