Jazelle returned Sunder’s disapproving gaze with an indifferent expression as she leaned her chair so it balanced precariously on its back legs. She raised an eyebrow at a slight pause following her greeting.
	“Hold that face too long, and it might stick that way,” she mused lightly. “Unless it already has.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, and nodded as if that explained everything. 
	She looked back to him when he started about having a backstory. “Your [i]daughter?[/i]” she asked incredulously. “You’ve got to--”
	[b]“And don’t protest.”[/b]
	Her lips pursed to the side and she exhaled through her nose. 
	“[i]Lynched?[/i]” Jazelle’s chair fell back to all four legs, and she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape as she searched his expression for any sign he was messing with her. She found none.
	At the first part of the quick, simple story he provided, she could not help but laugh. “Same song, second verse,” she said with a darkly amused snort. She leaned the chair once more on its back legs, wondering if he could have possibly known the truth behind his fabricated “backstory.”
	She returned his stare until he glanced behind her. Her attention snapped to the side as she turned her head. She startled at the sight of the servant, and her chair threatened to topple over. She gripped the sides of the seat, steadying it as the servant placed a plate on the table in front of her, the charm bracelet around her wrist jingling lightly. She let out an frustrated breath at letting someone sneak up on her, watching the cook place a chunk of curious-looking meat among the other items already on the plate. 
	“[i]Excuse me?[/i]” Jazelle’s attention returned to Sunder, looking at him from beneath her brows at the order of taking a new name. Her expression turned into a scowl as he explained himself. She threw a hand up in the air exasperatedly. “You couldn’t have told me that last night?” she growled, silently adding, [i]Like, [u]before[/u] I told you mine?[/i] She shoved her hands, annoyed, back into her muff, but listened to his lecture about the power of blood nonetheless.
	“Okay, okay,” she grumbled when he reiterated the concept. “I [i]get[/i] it.” Her stomach growled, and she eyed the food on the plate, its aroma tantalizing as it mingled with the warm scent of the fire. Slowly, she scooted the chair to better face the plate, still keeping a cautious eye cast about her.
	“So, [i]Dad[/i],” she said almost mockingly as she speared a pile of eggs with a fork. She looked at Sunder sideways, her eyes slightly narrowed. “[i]No one[/i] does something like this without there being a profit in it for them, or wanting something in return. So what’s in all this for [i]you,[/i] huh? What do you want? Because a clear conscience doesn’t strike me as something at the top of your priority list.”