The tent was heavy with heat.
A red breath still pierced the walls, as if the desert refused to die. The fight had ended only a few minutes ago, but the silence inside was anything but peaceful. It was an animal silence. Dense. Saturated with sweat, tension, bodies. I was standing. Naked. So was she.
Nyss stood a few steps away, legs crossed, arms at her sides. Upright. Proud. She wasn't hiding. Her breasts rose slowly, barely. Her tail coiled nervously around her leg, like a snake hesitating between the bite and the retreat. Her gaze, golden and slanted, analyzed me. And under her skin, glistening with moisture, I could already feel the micro-tremors of her ego giving way.
— You're not like the others, she said.
She didn't look defeated. But she had stopped playing. No more mockery. No more posed seductress performances. Her voice was low, steady, almost respectful.
