They stuffed the prisoner in the back, between Cyprus and Milkavich. Trina's trembling, distraught persona was gone, replaced by a cold, angry woman who stared straight ahead, her lips pressed together. When they arrived at the Stronghold, Milkavich led her inside, Jilsenna on his heels.
Sadihra swung out of the vehicle and glanced at Cyprus. "Meet me for a drink," she muttered, then marched away as if she'd never spoken.
Lance arched an eyebrow. "Did I hear what I think I heard?"
Cyprus closed the car up. "That depends what you thought you heard."
"I thought I heard her invite you for a drink?"
Cyprus shrugged and tried to hide his smile. Perhaps it was working. Perhaps tonight she'd finally give in.
Or she might tell you to go to hell.
Anything was possible.