Damain leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed and his head tilted slightly as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke.
His chest rose and fell once before his gaze lowered to meet Delaney's. The man had remained composed, almost indifferent, throughout the exchange. Damain could not help but acknowledge it. There was something to be said about that level of control.
"You are not what you seem..." Delaney said, his observant eyes fixed steadily on Damain.
Under that gaze, most men faltered. Some grew uneasy. Others struggled to breathe. Yet Damain sat there, smoking without a trace of discomfort, as though the weight of Delaney's presence meant nothing.
It intrigued him.
"Does it matter? Everyone wears masks," Damain replied with a faint shrug.
Delaney let out a burst of laughter and nodded several times. It was true. In this world, everyone hid behind something, concealing their real selves from public eyes. The young man's answer struck clean and accurate.
