No makeup beyond a touch of mascara.
She looks like she walked out of a corporate HR meeting, not a war council.
And she is absolutely, devastatingly perfect.
I step aside, allowing her to enter fully.
Her gaze sweeps the room—quick, assessing, completely unbothered by the fact that she is surrounded by apex predators who could tear her apart without breaking a sweat.
"This is Tamsin Beck," I say. "She is my mate. She is also the key tactical asset in our operation against Sentinel Dynamics."
I gesture to the empty chair beside mine.
The co-chair.
The seat reserved for my second-in-command.
"She will be leading the anatomical vulnerability analysis."
Tamsin walks over without hesitation.
She does not look at me for permission.
She does not wait for approval.
She simply sits down, folds her hands on the table, and meets the eyes of every single operative in the room.
The silence is deafening.
And then Lucien speaks.
"With all due respect, sir," he says, his voice smooth and cultured and dripping with barely concealed disdain, "this is a high-level strategic briefing. We are discussing classified intelligence, military-grade tactical operations, and corporate warfare protocols. I fail to see how a...civilian... is qualified to participate."
He does not sayhuman.
But the implication hangs in the air like smoke.
I do not move.
Not yet.
I simply look at him.
And let the silence stretch.
Lucien shifts slightly in his chair.
It is a small movement.
Barely perceptible.
But I see it.
"Lucien," I say quietly.
My voice drops an octave.
Not louder.
