Boartusk Heights vengaza es dulce

Qvasir inclined his head slightly, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips. His amber eyes gleamed, sharp and curious, catching the wariness in Agrippina's demeanor like a wolf scenting unease. The servant's caution only deepened his intrigue; she spoke carefully, her words shaped like a shield, yet it was the name—Paloma—that snagged his attention.

Mercy is a rare gift, he said smoothly, his voice low but edged with quiet intensity. One can only be grateful. His gaze lingered on Agrippina, studying the subtle tension in her frame. Who is this Senora Paloma?

His tone carried no malice, but there was a sly undercurrent to his words, a calculated precision in how he phrased his curiosity.