"Wake up, girl."
Hope's eyelids fluttered open, her vision swimming as the warm sunlight streamed through the tall, elegant windows of an unfamiliar room. The distant hum of the city beyond the glass whispered in the background. A throbbing ache pulsed in her head, and her mana core still stung, the lingering effect of suppression wrapping around her like a thick fog.
Two men stood beside her bed. One wrote notes with brisk efficiency, his pen moving rapidly across the page, while the other crouched at her side. She felt a hand gently press against her mouth, followed by a strange sensation—like the threads of her mana being pulled apart and drawn away.
Hope's gaze sharpened, studying the men. Both had dark hair, though one's eyes gleamed an icy blue, while the other's were a soft, warm green. They exchanged silent glances, their expressions unreadable, yet there was an unmistakable calm about them.
Particles floated in the air around them, glowing softly with colors Hope recognized instinctively: happy yellow for reassurance, trustful blue for reliability. But beneath those comforting tones, there was an almost imperceptible flicker of gray—hesitation? Uncertainty?
The man with the blue eyes spoke first, his voice calm but carrying the subtle authority of someone used to commanding attention. "We've gone over your file," he said. "It says you're trustworthy and kind. So, don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Hope blinked, her thoughts sluggish, her mind struggling to keep up. "Who are you?"
The man with the green eyes paused, setting his pen down. He straightened and offered a smile—one that was meant to ease suspicion, but only deepened it. "I'm Rodigez Mafold. This is my brother, Mice Mafold."
Mice nodded, his piercing blue eyes never leaving hers. "We're here to make sure everything goes smoothly."
Hope couldn't help the flicker of annoyance that surfaced. Their overly polished demeanor and carefully chosen words felt like an act—one she wasn't sure she could trust. Were their emotions real, or was this all a calculated performance?
Suppressing her doubts, she pushed herself up, wincing as a sharp pain sliced through her chest. "Where am I? What time is it? And are you... friendly?" Her voice was edged with suspicion, her ruby eyes narrowing despite the haze clouding her thoughts.
Rodigez's chuckle was smooth, practiced, as if he'd said these words a thousand times before. "You're in the Nyxvale High-Class Hotel, Feather. It's Sunday, 7 a.m. You've been out for about three hours since we picked you up from..." He paused, his tone turning almost teasing. "...a certain place known for its tea and coffee. Not that it's a hub for exchanging information or a meeting ground for high-ranking officials, of course."
Mice smirked faintly at his brother's sarcasm, but added in a measured tone, "As for us, we're not here to harm you."
Hope's instincts hummed with distrust. There was something too perfect about their words, the way they spoke—so carefully chosen, so deliberate. The particles in the air seemed unnaturally bright now, almost as though they were hiding something deeper.