I burst out laughing.
I couldn't help it—the sound erupted from my chest before I could even think about strangling it down or suppressing it in the name of politeness, genuine and unrestrained mirth that echoed across the room and probably carried down into the theater below.
Tora's expression crumpled instantly into something caught perfectly between hurt and indignation, his eyes going wide and wounded as my laughter continued for several more seconds before I could get it under control.
"You're—you're fucking with me," I managed to gasp out between residual chuckles, wiping at my eyes because they'd actually started watering. "You can sing? You, specifically? Tora, you can barely get through a complete sentence without stammering at least twice, your voice cracks whenever you get nervous which is approximately always, and you squeak when startled. There's absolutely no way you can actually—"
He straightened abruptly, his spine going rigid and his chin lifting with the closest thing to defiance I had ever seen from him in all the time I'd known him.
It was so unexpected, so completely counter to his usual demeanor, that it actually made me stop laughing mid-breath.
"I'm completely serious," he said, and his voice was firmer now, carrying actual conviction instead of his usual tentative uncertainty. "I'm quite proficient. Very proficient, actually. It was considered one of my strongest skills during training."
I wiped at my eyes again, desperately trying to compose myself and failing somewhat spectacularly as another chuckle threatened to escape.
"Okay, okay, you're serious about this. You can actually sing, like properly sing, not just carry a tune in the shower. I'm processing that." Another laugh tried to force its way out but I swallowed it down with effort. "Sorry. That was rude of me. Genuinely rude, not performatively rude. I just—you don't exactly scream 'stage presence' or 'confident performer,' you know? You're more 'scared rabbit who might faint if looked at too aggressively.'"
His jaw set in a stubborn line that would've been intimidating if he didn't still look as though a strong breeze could knock him over, but there was real determination there beneath the anxiety.
It was genuinely adorable in a way that made me want to both encourage him and also maybe pat his head, which would probably result in him combusting from embarrassment.
"So you're actually serious about this?" I asked, searching his face for any hint that this was some elaborate joke or misunderstanding. "You can sing? Like, performance quality? Not just 'technically adequate' but actually good enough that people would pay to hear you?"
He nodded with that same meek-but-resolute combination that was so uniquely him. "I wouldn't claim it if I couldn't back it up. The Glasswicks don't train us in skills we can't master to a high level. It would reflect poorly on the institution."
I sat back in the chair, processing this new information and feeling pieces click together in my mind with almost audible snaps. I stared at him for a long moment, watching the firelight play across his anxious features, and then it hit me all at once—the full implication, the sheer potential, the absolute perfection of this revelation.
"That's perfect," I breathed, the words coming out with genuine awe.
Tora blinked in surprise, his anxiety momentarily replaced by confusion. "It is?"
"We already have a stage for you," I continued, excitement building in my chest despite the bone-deep exhaustion that had been weighing me down all day. "An actual proper stage with lighting, acoustics, and everything. If you can actually sing—if you're genuinely good at it like you claim—Tora, do you understand what that means for us? What kind of opportunity this represents?"
He shook his head slowly, still not quite following my logic but clearly wanting to.
"We could skyrocket our popularity to levels we haven't even come close to touching yet," I explained, leaning forward and gesturing with increasing animation as the plan formed in real-time. "The other brothels in the Pantheon have spectacle, sure. They have elaborate shows, performances, and all kinds of entertainment. But none of them—not a single one—has an actual Glasswick willing to perform for them. None of them can offer what we could offer with you on that stage."
"I..." Tora's voice cracked slightly, his emotions bleeding through. "You really think it would work? That people would actually come to see me?"
"I think it would be fucking brilliant," I said with absolute conviction, and I meant every word. "I think nobles would fight each other for the privilege of watching a Glasswick perform. I think we could charge premium prices and people would pay them without hesitation. I think this could be exactly what we need to establish ourselves as something special, something worth paying attention to in a city full of establishments trying to stand out."
Something shifted in his expression then, the anxiety melting away to reveal something softer and more vulnerable beneath. That timid smile returned to his lips, but it was warmer this time, more genuine, carrying real hope instead of just nervous politeness.
"Thank you," he whispered, the words so quiet I almost didn't hear them. "For believing in me. For seeing potential where others see limitations."
I felt something uncomfortable and entirely too vulnerable lodge itself in my throat, a tightness that made swallowing difficult, though I forced it down with effort.
"Yeah, well," I said, trying to inject some of my usual casual dismissiveness into my tone and only partially succeeding. "Don't make me regret it. If you get up on that stage and sound like a dying cat, I'm going to be very annoyed with you."
His smile widened just slightly, gaining a hint of actual confidence. "I won't. I promise."
We stood there for a long moment—well, he sat and I remained in my chair, but the sentiment was the same—with the fire crackling between us and filling the comfortable silence.
For once the quiet wasn't oppressive or awkward, wasn't weighted with unspoken tension or uncomfortable implications. It was almost nice, almost peaceful, the kind of moment that felt rare and precious in a life defined largely by chaos and constant crisis management.
Then I cleared my throat deliberately, breaking the spell before things could get any more emotionally complicated than they already were.
"Go find Julius," I instructed, gesturing toward the door with a casual wave. "Tell him we need to start planning your first performance as soon as possible. He'll absolutely lose his mind with excitement. It'll be genuinely entertaining to watch, actually. The man lives for theatrical opportunities."
Tora stood carefully, smoothing down his pristine white robes with nervous hands that betrayed his lingering anxiety despite the confidence our conversation had built, and headed toward the door with small, precise steps. He paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe, and glanced back at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Loona?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. Really, genuinely thank you. For this opportunity, for believing I can do this, for giving me a chance to be something more than just an assistant. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't," I said simply. And I did know. That was the thing about Tora—when he committed to something, he followed through completely.
He slipped out through the doorway, his footsteps soft and careful on the stairs leading down. I waited until I heard him descend completely before allowing my expression to shift from warm encouragement to something harder and more calculating. The mask I'd been maintaining throughout our entire conversation fell away, revealing the colder analysis beneath.
Brutus had been waiting by the door the entire time, standing in the shadows with his characteristic patience and silence.
Now he stepped into the room properly, his massive frame filling the doorway. "Problem?" he rumbled, his eyes studying me with the kind of perception that came from knowing someone well enough to read their actual thoughts beneath whatever performance they were giving.
I sighed heavily, rubbing at my temples where a headache was beginning to build from exhaustion, stress, and the constant mental gymnastics required to navigate this increasingly complicated situation.
"As much as I genuinely love having Tora here, as much as I think he'll be genuinely valuable to our operation... this complicates things significantly."