"And the runaway bird," his voice came from behind me, close enough that I could almost feel his breath against the back of my neck, "decided to fly back home to its owner."
I didn't turn immediately.
Control was power. And I had not come this far to lose mine in the first few seconds.
His footsteps were slow. Unhurried. Confident. The kind of steps that belonged to a man who knew the entire room belonged to him.
I let a small silence pass before replying.
"Maybe," I said calmly, "because the owner never stopped searching for the raven… even when he had so many golden birds in his cage."
I finally turned.
He was already watching me.
He walked past me without breaking eye contact and took the seat opposite mine like a king taking his throne. For a brief moment, neither of us spoke. Our eyes remained locked, measuring, remembering, calculating.
Then his gaze slowly moved over me.
In assessment.
