"Arina…" Aiden voiced.
The silver warrior stood in the half-lit chamber, her armor clicking with each shift of her weight. The sound was sharp, metallic, invasive—cutting through the humid musk that still clung to the room.
Her back arched ever so slightly, the posture of someone who carried her pride like a weapon. Her red eyes wandered, slow and deliberate, sweeping over the chamber without shame or hesitation.
She ignored the two naked figures, who even now were still trembling from their final cries of climax. Their breath hung heavy in the air, ragged and uneven, the remnants of something raw and shameless.
Sniff. Sniff.
"You both went at it…" Arina's voice fell somewhere between a tease and a judgment. Half gentle, half deep, each word rolled off her tongue with the weight of steel but the curl of mischief.
Her silver hair, long and wild, fluttered around her shoulder plates as if even the air dared not cling to her too long.
