Golden Glade poison or weed

For a moment, she said nothing, letting Aitana's words hang in the cold air between them.

Finally, she tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. You're a smooth talker, Aitana. I'll give you that. Her voice was low, deliberate, carrying the weight of someone who chose her words with care.

Mictec's gaze softened as she studied Aitana. You're right about trust being a weapon. It cuts deep when it breaks. I've felt that blade more times than I care to count. Her ears flicked back for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her face before she pushed it away.

But you? She bumped Aitana's shoulder back, the gesture firm but not unfriendly. You might just have a little fight in you. Enough to make me think you’re worth the gamble.

Ocēlōtl, the hunter, that is what I see for you as an asset. Unless you feel that you would thrive in a different role.