"Sit down," Lyra said, her tone cool yet carrying a certain authority. She gestured to the couch across from her desk.
Max shrugged casually and dropped into the seat, leaning back in a relaxed posture as if they were old friends chatting instead of two influential figures in the Great Ruler Empire.
"What are your plans?" Lyra asked without preamble, her eyes locked on him, sharp and assessing.
Max couldn't help it—he burst into a small laugh. "Pfft!"
Lyra's brows knit together, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "What?!" she snapped, her tone edged with annoyance. There was nothing remotely amusing about her question, and she clearly wasn't in the mood for games.
Max raised his hands in mock surrender, still smiling. "It's just… your father asked me the exact same thing not too long ago," he said honestly. Though lighthearted in his delivery, there was a flicker of caution in his gaze—Lyra's death glare was not something to be taken lightly.
