For some odd reason, Azriel felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn't the weight of all the eyes lingering on his table—it was something else. Something he couldn't quite place.
'Strange...'
Letting the unease settle, he exhaled quietly and cast a sharp glare toward Conquest. Though his eyes were mostly shadowed by his hair, the intent was clear.
Conquest, however, seemed unfazed. She brought a delicate hand to her mouth, giggling softly.
"Conquest isn't wrong, though," came a booming voice.
"It's rare for you to grace us with that voice of yours. Or show anything on that ugly face, kid."
Azriel's gaze shifted to the hulking figure addressing him: Subject 431, now better known as War.
His towering frame leaned forward slightly, curiosity written across his scarred features.
Azriel shrugged lightly, his movements measured.
"Even I have my good days sometimes…" He paused, his voice turning cold.