[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    heard her whispered words and turned as she was applying the rune, his gaze catching on the projection upon the runebrand. It wasn’t the Heir Rune.

Before it took, Farren’s arm dropped and in the space of a fraction of a second, he was out of her reach. Yet she kept talking, as if nothing strange had happened, as if she hadn’t just attempted to put the Mask Rune on him when he’d requested something else entirely.

Farren breathed, the action manual and far more controlled than before. He was glaring again, but there was no shame or paranoia about him and though he appeared tense once more, the azure-eyed hunter didn’t seem nearly as upset as he’d been during their exchange. Farren opened his mouth to speak, to ask a question, but he closed it again before he did.

He closed his eyes, took a deep pull of air, and then let it out nice and slow, letting go of some of the tension that had reemerged. Farren’s gaze fell on her once more after that, [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Ophelia, I’ve grown rather fond of you. You’re capable, intelligent, and knowledgeable. We work well together,”[/b][/color] he stated the facts, his tone measured. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“...but I don’t much care for treachery, nor your presumptions,”[/b][/color] he said, and these words were far sharper, like blades long nursed by a whetstone.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“So, perhaps, on account of that fondness and respect…I will let pass this indiscretion. Just this once,”[/b][/color] his eyelid twitched faintly, a sign of masked irritation hidden beneath a veneer of forced calm even as he gave her a slow smile. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Now, the [i]Heir Rune,[/i] if you please, Ophelia.”[/b][/color] He left the rest unsaid, allowing his words hang for a moment and then, slower than before, he pushed up his sleeve and offered her his arm. This time, he didn’t let his eyes leave her visage.