For a moment, only the faint clink of ice in Lux's glass and the lingering smell of spilt whisky from Adam's shattered drink filled the air. The tension was almost comical—two childhood friends staring at Nero as though he had just announced he planned to duel a dragon barehanded.
Adam finally leaned forward, his chair creaking, pointing a thick finger at Nero.
"Listen, kid—" Adam still liked to call him "kid," though Nero had proven he was anything but. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But Khione? Khione? She's not just cold; she's frozen solid. You know how many men—hell, even women—have tried to melt that glacier? All of them failed. Miserably. You're signing yourself up for heartbreak, Nero. I've seen it happen."
Nero didn't flinch. He sipped his whisky slowly, as if Adam's words were merely background noise. His crimson eyes didn't waver.
