The Serpent and the Basilisk strolled downhill, each immersed in their private thoughts. Orjeta Myzeqari waited for them, leaning on an old black tree trunk. Leudora shuddered, pulling her thin jacket over her shoulders. Without uttering a word, Drašković removed his burgundy trench coat and offered it to Leudora. As a gravity-switcher, he barely felt the cold, but Leudora refused the courtesy with a swift gesture.

"You haven't killed each other. I hope you've at least tried." Myzeqari removed a stubborn lock from her forehead and folded her arms on her chest, beaming at Leudora.

Dragomir ignored Orjeta's irony, slowing his pace.

"Lady Galbur has proven that our cooperation can be productive. And inevitable."

"Well...?" Orjeta snarled, cocking her head expectantly. Leudora barely suppressed a tired sigh.

"I will help Lord Drašković. If we can't stop a war, we can lead it."

The Serpent's eyebrow twitched, and a strange expression of faint irony appeared in his glass-green eyes. "Since you cannot destroy your carefully crafted image of a hero, you have little choice but to join me."

Leudora scoffed.

"I plan my own maneuvers."

"You have no allies left but me," he said, his tone measured and bland. Leudora almost caught his gaze for a moment, but quickly lost it. She scoffed.

"You made sure of that."

"No. You did that yourself."

He turned to face her, composed and mildly amused.

"You can either change the world or break it. There's nothing in between."