Arathiel shifted his weight, his eyes darting toward the silhouette of the man on the stool. "She also said... she said this is the right time to push the plan forward."
The Lord Supreme hummed again. This time the sound was thoughtful rather than dismissive. He tapped a long, pale finger against the side of his crystal glass, the rhythmic click echoing in the quiet room. "And what of the fake?" he asked, his voice smooth as velvet.
"Still locked up, my Lord," Arathiel replied quickly, his tone practiced.
"Hmmm." The Lord Supreme hummed once more, watching the red liquid swirl. "We need to break her out. I have better use for her."
Arathiel felt a jolt of surprise. His eyebrows lifted, and his mouth opened slightly before he caught himself and smoothed his expression back into a mask of professional obedience.
"And our spies?" the Lord Supreme asked, his gaze remaining on his glass.
"Still on standby, my Lord," Arathiel said.
