Dove leaned back into the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers elegantly tapping ash from her cigar into a tray that hadn't been used in ages. Her smirk deepened as she caught Mystica's intrigued stare.
"It was honestly a mix of luck, frustration, and… well, a very sharp scalpel," Dove began, her voice low, like she was about to share a forbidden secret. "Gordon's body was incredibly resistant to external Myst manipulation. Every probe I sent in was either repelled or dissolved. It was like trying to stitch silk with a hammer."
Mystica gave a small nod, her interest visibly piqued. "That sounds reasonable for a being stuck in one of its two forms. Their bodies probably prioritize survival over function."
