The spark be lit
A flicker of distaste crossed Adon's eyes at the word little — gone so quickly it might have been a trick of the light. He did not rise to the bait. Some memories were better left in childhood, buried exactly where they belonged.
"I have been well," he said, his tone carrying a flat formality that firmly closed the topic. "And I assure you, this is not a reunion."
He shifted his weight against the edge of the desk, studying her for a long moment before speaking again. "I have read the reports concerning the Vanguard. What they did, and what was murmured about them afterward. Most of it is remarkably cultivated."
"Very official."
His gaze hardened. "What those papers fail to explain, however, is how one actually reaches them." He let the deliberate weight of the question settle between them.
"I am not asking for names," he continued, keeping his voice even. "Nor locations. But factions like that do not survive on conviction alone. They require information. Logistics. People willing to make themselves useful."
Adon's face smoothed into an unreadable mask, though the admission felt dangerous. It was already more than he should have conceded.
"There are aspects of their position I find difficult to dismiss outright," he said, his eyes finally locking onto hers. "So I suppose my question is quite simple. How does someone offer help?"