The room shifted suddenly, and without warning, Vincent found himself pulled from his office to his private quarters. The once-still air thickened, dark and tense, as if it carried the weight of something beyond mortal hands. Yet Vincent merely let out a sigh, his eyes flashing with cool irritation.
"At least ask for permission before yanking me out of my work," he muttered, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he turned toward the looming figure waiting for him. It was Iryz, the witch responsible for this abrupt relocation, her faint smirk making it clear she'd done so deliberately. Beside her, cloaked and towering like a shadow himself, stood Arthean. His intense gaze cut through the dimness, yet Vincent held his own, regarding Arthean with a sardonic half-smile.