"How far have I gone?"
Serina's expression shifted as Olin's words landed, their calm simplicity striking a chord of irritation beneath her carefully maintained facade. She had been working him, her charm and venom entwined in a tapestry of deceit, and yet here he stood, defiant in his resolve. The tension between them was palpable, a wire stretched so thin that it seemed ready to snap at any moment.
Her cyan blade remained at her side, its soft hum a counterpoint to the silence that followed his calm rebuke. She tilted her head, her golden hair cascading over one shoulder, and allowed herself a soft, bitter laugh.
"Chose violence?" she echoed, her voice dripping with mock amusement. "Do you really think I wanted this?" Her piercing blue eyes locked onto his visor, their intensity unrelenting. "You're the one who followed me down here. You're the one who wouldn't walk away."
She began to pace slowly, her movements deliberate and calculated, her blade tracing faint arcs in the air as if she were contemplating her next move. Her posture radiated confidence, but there was a subtle, simmering frustration beneath it, a crack in the veneer of control she so carefully maintained.
"And you're right," she continued, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. "We did talk. But what exactly did you expect to hear from me, Olin? That I'd lay all my secrets bare for you to judge? That I'd meekly let you march off to the Council with what you think you've seen?"
Her voice lowered, taking on a more dangerous tone, each word carefully measured and laced with menace. "You're standing here, preaching calm and control, but you don't understand what's at stake. Not for me. Not for you. You think you're holding the higher ground, but all you're doing is stalling."
Serina stopped pacing, turning to face him fully. She let the Force ripple around her, her emotions feeding into its currents as she reached out, brushing against his surface thoughts with the delicate touch of Force Empathy. She didn't press too far, didn't try to overwhelm him—just enough to feel the faint flickers of doubt, the tension beneath his calm exterior.
"You're scared," she said again, her voice softer now, almost sympathetic. "And you should be. Because this doesn't end with the two of us trading words and walking away. You know that as well as I do."
Her cyan blade rose slightly, the light casting sharp shadows across her sharp features. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them with deliberate slowness, her movements poised and measured.
"You've made your choice," she said, her voice carrying a finality that sent a shiver through the air. "Now I have to make mine."
With a sudden burst of energy, Serina thrust her free hand forward, sending a wave of telekinetic force aimed at Olin's weapon arm, attempting to disarm him and shift the balance of the fight. She followed the attack with a swift, precise lunge, her blade aimed not to kill but to force him further back, to disrupt his defense and leave him vulnerable.
Her mind raced as she moved, calculating her next steps, but a part of her relished the conflict, the power coursing through her as she pressed the attack. Olin's resolve was impressive, but she was determined to break it—one way or another.