The room waited for Natalia.
She didn't move at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, staring at the far wall like she hadn't heard a single word of the last ten minutes. Then, with the deliberate grace of a queen ascending her throne, she walked directly to my side.
She stood close. Close enough that our shoulders brushed. Close enough that anyone with eyes could read the statement she was making.
"Natalia Kuzmina. Psychic Dominion."
Her voice was ice water poured over silk. Cool. Controlled. Lethal.
She finally turned to face the room, her purple eyes sweeping over them with the kind of dismissive assessment you'd give to livestock.
"And he's not wrong."
Emi's face fell. Just a fraction, but I saw it.
Natalia gestured toward me with the smallest, most imperious tilt of her head.
