Sure enough, "Shall we?" sounded like the gateway to hell.
One that started with a thwak as Luca extended his foot—heel first—in a sharp tango step, their arms angled to one side, their faces following the same direction as they moved with startling aggression.
Ah, yes.
That.
What happened to the waltz that Cassian suggested?
Well, the idea was thrown away the moment his physical prowess had been called into question.
In short, the Federation's next leader had just been called weak.
Even worse, he had been called as such by someone who clearly looked like he still had more growing to do.
Such delicate features. A pocket-sized height.
How dare this one insinuate that he was weak?
Of course, Cassian knew he might be playing into the golden-eyed menace's hands, but a challenge like that wasn't something he could possibly ignore. Not when it had been done in public—and not after someone else had already been presented as a comparison.
