Eska

Where is what I asked for?

Her pale gray-blue eyes narrow slightly, gaze sharpening beneath the dark frame of her straight black hair. Her chin lifts with restrained authority as she folds her arms over the structured navy fabric lined with white fur at her shoulders. The movement is precise. Controlled. Intentional.

I do not enjoy repeating myself.

A slow breath leaves her nose, barely visible in the cold air. She steps forward across the frost, arctic boots soundless against packed snow. Her posture remains upright, rigid — noble, unyielding. The belt at her waist keeps her silhouette structured, composed.

You were given a simple instruction.

She tilts her head just slightly, black hair shifting in symmetrical lines along her tan, cool-toned skin. Her expression does not change. It never needs to.

Do not test my patience again.