"Of course," Midas continued smoothly, folding his hands atop the desk. His voice was calm, warm even, but it carried the weight of something absolute—like a verdict passed without appeal.
"Though I am not surprised. The reason you were urged to remain a freelance hunter despite your… status, is simple—your ability. It is not only rare, but… useful."
The last word pressed down heavier than the rest, the syllables curling into Eli's chest like a hook.
The smile never left Midas's lips, but his eyes sharpened, the kind of look that stripped away every pretense, as if he was measuring Eli not as a person, but as an instrument.
Eli's pulse spiked, his fingers tightening against his lap to stop the tremor in his hands.
He forced his lips into something resembling a polite curve, even as his throat burned. "Th-thank you, sir. Your words are… too kind."
