When Vesta catches Storm’s gaze, her brow lifts slightly. She doesn’t move at first, just stands there, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer abruptness of it all. Her eyes follow as Storm drags the elf upstairs, confusion flickering plainly across her face.

“Wha-” she starts, the word slipping out before she can stop it. “Who…?”

The question hangs there, unanswered.

After a moment, she exhales and lifts a hand to her temple, rubbing lightly as if to stave off a headache.

“Not my business… not my business…” she murmurs under her breath.

She lets the thought go with a small shake of her head before turning back to Zukar, her expression softening as she slips into the Ramtovi tongue.

“Sometimes I really regret coming to this city, you know?” She admits quietly. “There’s always something happening. Too much. All at once.”

She throws a hand up in exasperation before her other hand finds his, her fingers lacing together with his.

“Let’s just go, shall we?”

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