Not my type

Lounging across the sprawling bed in this hotel I've called home for the past two months, I watch Viper stroll into my room with that perpetual slouch, hands in his pockets like he's just wandered in by accident. Viper—my sole link to Daelan and self-proclaimed "part-time employee of the Eye." Or, as I like to call him, my own private spy.

"So, another no?" I ask, attempting to mask my irritation. I watch him closely, gauging his reaction.

"Afraid so, mistress," he replies with a lopsided grin, though his eyes keep darting toward the basket of expensive pastries I left on the table. "He's a tough nut to crack, that one."

"Help yourself." I gesture to the pastries, and he's practically halfway across the room before the words are out of my mouth, piling his plate like he hasn't eaten in days.

Between bites, he mutters, "I just don't get it. Two months now? Look, if you wanted an alternative, I could have found you three Daelan look-alikes by now. Hell, I'd dye their hair myself, throw in some contacts." He pops a cream-filled pastry into his mouth, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

I can't help but chuckle at his disbelief, but there's something he just wouldn't understand. "It's not something I can explain. There's a… a feeling, you know? My fortune teller insists our fates are best when intertwined."

I catch the look on his face, that skeptical brow raise he gave me the first time I'd mentioned fate and fortune. I actually like his honest incredulity. Viper's no romantic—he's a relentless opportunist with his eye on the prize, that prize being whatever gold I'm willing to drop in his hand. Smart, ruthless, and a B-class hunter with a poison affinity he boasts about whenever he can. A silent killer, master of discretion—"the best in the business," as he's told me more than once.

"If you say so," he says with a shrug, turning back to the pastries.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, don't play coy. You love this job," I tease, propping myself up on my elbows. "And you love this place. If you're going to be in my employ, you might as well get comfortable."

"Comfortable?" he echoes, wiping crumbs from his hands, smirking. "I'm already spoiled here."

I laugh, glancing at the window where the city's twilight sparkles, casting a soft glow through the room. "Speaking of," I say, turning back to him, "they're going dungeon diving tomorrow."

He raises a brow, an unspoken question lingering in his gaze.

"I don't want a repeat of last month's mess," I continue, sighing as I remember how Daelan had returned battered and half-conscious. The man's reckless, charging into high-tier dungeons with little more than sheer grit and mediocre equipment. He succeeded—broke through to B-rank, but it nearly killed him. "This can't happen again. He's far too reckless without proper gear."

I reach down beside the bed and retrieve the box I've prepared, handing it to Viper. "Make sure he gets this."

He opens it and lets out a low whistle. "You sure about this, mistress? These are practically gifts fit for a king, not some stubborn alley rat who doesn't know what he's got coming his way."

"He really doesn't deserve this, the stubborn fool," he mutters. He glances at me with a mischievous smirk, the kind that means he's about to say something infuriating.

"Mistress, if you're looking for a reliable, friendly poison-class with boy-next-door charm, I know just the candidate."

I can't help but laugh. "You? Not my type. Now go do your job, flatterer."

He snickers, closing the box and tucking it carefully under his arm. As he steps back toward the shadows, I catch myself smiling at the playful banter. It's a nice change—the friendship that's started growing between us.