Nyxara tilted her head a fraction, and the corner of her mouth lifted into amusement that did not reach the rest of her.
"I prefer this atmosphere. So when I am alone in here, I make some changes sometimes."
Her gaze drifted across the line and settled on Lyra. She read the Juggernaut's careful stance, the tightness at her mouth, the way the pink tanker had not eased a degree since arrival.
She grinned.
"I would never harm him. This is purely cosmetic."
She raised one hand and snapped two fingers, the click precise.
The realm answered.
The wine-decanter sky brightened in a single breath into the clean serene dark Quinlan kept it at, the crushed-petal undertone thinning into the simple sap-and-grass scent of his actual soul, the black soil paling toward warm loam, the crimson roses drawing their petals back into themselves and returning white.
A second snap arrived an instant later, and her preferred version returned in one smooth breath.
A third snap.
