She snatched up the trench coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, fumbling to tie the belt. Her feet stumbled half a step on the carpet, and the aching numbness along the insides of her knees forced her to shorten her stride, giving her walk an awkwardness she could not quite describe.
She sat in the armchair beside the video camera, crossed her legs, carefully gathered the hem of her trench coat, and roughly tucked her blonde hair behind her ears with her fingers. In just three seconds, her expression shifted from panic back to a professional reporter's composure.
Only the lingering flush on her ears refused to fade.
The door opened.
Skurge walked in.
He was more than half a head shorter than Yongye had expected, with a stocky build and a dark red cape over his dark gray armor. The Sword of Death he had received from Hela hung at his waist, the dark green patterns glowing on its sheath looking somewhat out of place under the office's warm lights.
His dark brown hair was cropped close to his skull. His rugged features bore the roughness of someone who had spent years doing dirty work: high, broad cheekbones and a collapsed section of his nose bridge, as though someone had smashed it head-on and it had never been set properly.
His steps were steady, but the instant he entered, his dark brown eyes swept quickly across the entire office. His gaze lingered briefly on Lois's still-flushed face before darting away to the young man sprawled in the swivel chair behind the desk.
Skurge stopped about three paces from the desk, unfastened the Sword of Death from behind his waist, and held it in both hands, its tip pointing down and its hilt forward. He bowed at a ninety-degree