Leonhardt raised an eyebrow. His coat didn't move. "Come again?"
The woman turned to face him, her plague mask tilting just slightly as she gestured toward the pulsing door.
"The core cannot bond through clothing. The link is bodily. Runic. Symbolic. To anchor the node, it must interface with your mana roots. Through the skin."
Zafira made a soft noise. Not a laugh—not quite. But close.
She stepped forward, standing between Leonhardt and the masked woman like a lioness blocking another predator. "You want him to strip in front of you?"
The woman didn't blink. "I do not want, Lady Zafira. It is required."
Her tone was even. Perfect. Trained to avoid emotion. But Zafira's eyes flashed gold.
"So eager to see what's not yours," she muttered, almost to herself. Her wings flared once before settling. "Leon, let me help."
He didn't speak at first.
