The way he looked back at Ryley—those sneering glances—made his meaning clear:
You were a pretty face. This one's blood.
You were a phase. This one's legacy.
"Anna! Vince is going to be my dad's commander!" Morgan exclaimed proudly, bouncing toward Madam Beckett. "He's gonna help Dad beat up chimeras in the Passing Realm!"
The old woman smiled faintly, brushing his cheek with the tips of her fingers.
"I had hoped he'd spend more time with you," she said, voice light but edged with steel. "But now… well, he'll be busy playing soldier."
Morgan tilted his head, blinking. "Huh? Is that true?" he asked Vincent, confused.
Vincent paused. He had caught the message hidden in her tone.
She said nothing directly. But her words made it clear; she wasn't in favor of him taking the post—no matter how composed she looked.
"No worries, Young Master," Vincent said smoothly, crouching down to Morgan's level with a faint smirk playing on his lips.
